April's Fool
by ValleyA
Summary: Richie Petry always wanted to be smarter. And he finally got his wish in a way that profoundly affects the 101st, especially Peter and Jody. Story contains violence, some graphic.
1. Chapter 1

**Synopsis: Richie Petry always wanted to be smarter. And he finally got his wish in a way that profoundly affects the 101st, especially Peter and Jody.**

**April's Fool**

**by ValleyA**

**Part One**

**Chapter One**

Richard Petry was born on April 1st twenty-four years earlier on a clear, crisp night, just minutes past midnight. Both parents were proud of their new son and of the daughter who followed the next year. It was a happy household for another two years until tragedy struck.

Repeatedly.

An electrical accident at age three killed Richard's younger sister and nearly killed Richard. He was in a coma for weeks before he awakened to overjoyed parents – overjoyed until they realized the child before them was nothing like the one they had known earlier.

Wide, vacant eyes stared back at them, nearly devoid of life. Richard's parents were eventually forced to grieve for the loss of the child they had raised up to that point, even though he was still alive.

One year later, Dorina Petry buried her dear husband who had died in an industrial accident at work, but in her heart, she knew he'd been dying a slow death since the doctors pronounced little Richie as severely mentally impaired.

Richie became her sole focus in life. She was determined that she would prove the doctors wrong, prove that he would be able to live on his own and support himself as an adult. And eventually, she did see her vow come to pass.

Richie turned into a fine young man, caring and considerate – a happy boy, who loved to work with his hands, creating wood carvings that often supplemented his income, allowing him to build up a considerable savings account.

Richie was still the light of her life and as Dorina entered her golden years, she had the quiet comfort of knowing Richie would be able to take care of himself.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richie Petry had worked at the 101st precinct for nearly two years and he was very proud of his job. He strove to consistently do the kind of work in which his supervisor, Victor Manseau, would be proud of.

Unable to remember his own father, Victor was a man who Richie imagined his father would have been like, based on the stories his mother always told him. In a way, doing a good job for Victor was like doing a good job for his own father.

He recalled a conversation from the previous day with his mother, a wisp of a woman at five foot two compared to his six foot three frame, "Mom, why do people always think I'm stupid? Why do they call me_ simple_ when I'm not?"

"Richie, honey, we know you are _not_ stupid or simple. _We_ know you have many, many gifts. What's the rule we use when others are hurtful?"

"Never remember what others think, only what I want to be," he repeated as he rolled his eyes, but then he flashed her a quick smile, letting her know he really believed in at least part of her message.

"That's right, honey. If you can look yourself in the mirror with pride," she said as she pointed to a mirror hanging on the wall near their chairs in the dining room, "then it just doesn't matter what others think."

Richie nodded as he reached forward to hug her, his thick curly hair brushing her cheek. When he clung a little longer than usual, she added, "I know it stings when you have to put up with the meanness of others, but that's when you remember just how loved you are."

That last bit was exactly what Richie needed and he tightened his grip on her for a moment before releasing her. "I love you, Mom."

"I know, honey, and I love you, too. More than life itself."

Still smiling at the thought of his mother's steadfast love, Richie looked down at his janitor's cart and decided to get back to the job at hand. As he pushed his cart down the hallway in the process of collecting trash from the various offices, a couple of teenager boys came from the opposite direction and started taunting him, somehow seeing easy prey from the very moment they first laid eyes on him.

"Hey, look, Alex! We got us a moving dumbbell," the taller boy said with a sneer.

Richie tried to ignore them, but they moved directly into his path, blocking his cart.

"That's right, Andy, wonder how it escaped the gym?" Alex said as he moved closer to Richie, causing him to back up against the wall.

"I-I don't want to talk to you. You are being mean and I have w-work to do," Richie said as he folded his arms in front of him, keeping his eyes downward, never meeting their gaze.

"No, Alex, it's not the gym he escaped from. It's the loony bin. Don't you know they lock up idiots like this? For public safety and their own. See, he's too stupid to know if what he's doing would even hurt himself or not."

When Richie didn't respond right away, only rocked on the balls of his feet with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, hoping if he could ignore them long enough, they would just go away, Andy reached up and flipped off Richie's prized Detroit Tigers baseball cap.

Richie's blue eyes flashed open and he awkwardly groped for the cap, trying to catch it before it fell to the ground, but he was too slow. Alex used the momentum of Richie's movement to shove him forward a bit, causing him to crash into the janitor cart. The force of his impact threw the cart over onto its side, dumping most of its contents onto the floor of the large hallway, creating an awful mess.

"Oops, see what I mean? A real danger. What a stupid idiot!" Andy hooted as they both dissolved into laughter. Richie blinked back tears that burned at his eyes as he gazed forlornly at the clutter. He pushed himself up to a kneeling position.

"We better get out of here, Andy. This place is loaded with cops," Alex muttered as Richie tried to pick up the mess. In an abrupt flurry of movement, both boys found themselves roughly pushed up against the wall behind them.

A calming hand upon Richie's shoulder quieted his startled reaction. Glancing around sharply, Richie looked up into the crystal blue eyes of Jody Powell, his favorite lady cop, as she knelt beside him.

"Richie, are you okay?"

Suddenly embarrassed at being caught with tears in his eyes, he turned away. Then, he caught sight of Detective Peter Caine talking angrily to both teens as he pressed them against the wall.

"That happens to be a friend of mine you were pushing around there! I gotta tell you two I tend to take it _very_ personally when my friends are treated poorly. Understood?"

Both kids nodded their heads widely, as they knew they'd been caught red-handed. "Don't let it happen again or you'll be dealing with my nastier side."

Peter pressed harder against the teens to emphasize his point, "This – this is nothing compared to my nastier side."

Narrowing his eyes even more, he demanded, "What are you doing wandering the halls unattended anyway?"

"We – we are here on a field trip," Alex stammered.

"Well, I think we better find your class and have a talk with your teacher."

The pale tone of both boys waned as Peter took each one by the shoulder and moved forward.

"You okay, Richie?" Peter asked softly, his tone altering dramatically from the gruff manner he had just addressed the teens.

"Yes, yes, Detective Peter. I'm okay," Richie said, unable to tear his eyes away from the sprawling mess before him.

Peter nodded. "Good, I'll be back in a sec to help clean up." Peter stopped and smiled. "Or better yet, boys, you pick up this mess before we find your class."

Standing over them as the teens began cleaning up the area, Peter extended a hand out to help Richie to stand. The moment their hands touched, Peter jumped from the sting of a strong static electrical shock.

"Sorry, Detective Peter, but you know it happens sometimes when I get really mad or really scared," Richie mumbled apologetically as he hovered beside Peter. Peter looked as if he were trying to rub some feeling back into his fingers.

"Yeah, I should have remembered that. It's okay, it didn't hurt... much." Peter chuckled as he said it, but his expression revealed the shock from Richie had hurt a lot more than he was willing to admit.

Richie didn't hear Peter's words, though. He was already lost in the sight of the mess on the floor before him, forgetting about Peter as he began to wring his hands.

Finally, he shook his head and said, "I can clean this up, Detective Peter. Really, I can. They might not do it right."

"They'll do it right, Richie. If they don't, they'll just keep on doing it until it _is_ done right," Peter said firmly. "And if they don't do it just the way you want them to, you say something. They are your own personal slaves at the moment."

Richie hesitated in questioning Peter's authority, knowing Peter's last comment was meant to bring out a smile, but he just didn't feel like smiling right then. He was too busy struggling to allow the others to do his work and do it properly.

"Okay... if you say so," he said finally as he crossed his arms across his chest and rocked silently on the balls of his feet to comfort his dismay.

"It'll be fine, Richie. I promise," Peter said softly, his eyes never leaving the troublemakers before him.

Jody picked up Richie's baseball cap on the floor and handed it back to him. "Richie, here is your favorite baseball cap. It's fine, nothing got on it."

Richie's agitation was barely contained as he took the cap and shifted it around in his hands, never stopping long enough to put the cap back on his head.

Once the cart was righted and the clutter picked up, Peter turned to the boys. "All right, now apologize to the man."

After that was done, Peter took both of the wayward teens by the arm, "Come on, let's get to it."

He escorted the youths to the class who was just emerging from the forensics lab. The two teens waited as Peter had a stern talk with their instructor.

Peter walked up to Jody and Richie just as she was saying, "It's okay, Richie. Everything's good as new."

Richie frantically looked over the cart, rearranging things until everything was back in its proper place.

At that moment, Jody saw Victor, Richie's supervisor, coming towards them, followed by Peter. He met them halfway. The short, gray-headed African American stiffened as he listened to Jody's quietly spoken account of what had just transpired, his expression darkening at the story.

"You okay, pal?" Peter asked Richie softly, hesitating only a second before placing his hand on Richie's back.

Richie finally left the cart and straightened his shoulders as he nodded, but he was still unable to meet Peter's waiting expression.

"Better watch it, Detective Peter, I might shock you again," Richie warned slowly, looking downward.

"Don't worry about it, Richie," Peter replied. "I've already forgotten about it."

"That's my boy, Richie. You get his dander up and he'll knock your socks off just as sure as if he's hot-wired to a transformer!" Victor said in his usual jolly tone as he approached Richie.

Obviously, he had overheard the exchange between Peter and Richie. "That's why I keep him calm, cool, and collected, so I don't have to worry about him shocking me."

Victor patted Richie on the shoulder. "Sorry to hear you've had some trouble, son. Come on, you can help me for a bit. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

It was amazing to see how Victor's grandfatherly presence initiated such a positive change in Richie's dark and anxious mood.

"Ah, Victor, I have my work to do," Richie started in a halfhearted tone, but it was apparent that he wanted to be with Victor.

"Richie, I'm an old man who enjoys your company," Victor said in his characteristic raspy voice, placing a hand on Richie's shoulder and smiled widely as he faced him fully, not allowing Richie's gaze to wander anywhere but to his waiting face. "Now, would you deny an old man his simple pleasures?"

"No, Victor," Richie said slowly with a smile forming on his lips as Victor's arm stretched upward to wrap around his shoulder.

"Bye, Detective Peter and Detective Jody. I'll see you later," Richie said as he waved and they walked away.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"I'm so glad Richie's found a home here. He has a way of bringing out the gentleness in people," Jody said, walking with Peter in the opposite direction of Victor and Richie.

"Yeah, I just wish jerks like those kids didn't get such a thrill out of tormenting him," Peter muttered, still angry about the pointless encounter.

Absently, he continued to rub life into his tingling fingertips.

"They're kids, Peter. They just don't realize how much pain they cause by doing something like that," Jody replied.

"Well, somebody needs to teach them some tolerance."

"The same way you learned patience?" Jody teased, knowing the story of Peter's childhood experiences at the temple in Braniff.

"Maybe. Yeah, maybe that's just what they need," Peter said, the unpleasant memories of his encounters with the town bullies flushing his face with hints of injustices long past.

Jody patted Peter on the back as they walked. "Well, I can tell you this much, Peter. It wouldn't seem the same around here without Richie's smiling face."

Peter sighed as he thought about her statement, pushing away the last of his troubling anger. "Richie really has done it all by himself, hasn't he? We might have recommended him for the position, but he's done so much more with it than I would have ever imagined."

"Yeah, that's for sure. He's a hard worker and such a sweet kid."

"He's special, that's for sure," Peter agreed, then shaking his head, he laughed aloud before adding, "But he's no kid."

"Oh, he's just a big teddy bear. What makes you say that?" Jody asked suspiciously.

"Haven't you noticed the way he acts around you? How you're the only one who gets his _special_ wood carvings as gifts?" Peter gave her a sly sideways glance before continuing. "I mean, you've only got a half dozen or so lining the top of your desk."

"What?" Jody demanded as she stopped in her tracks.

Peter was a few paces ahead of her, but he paused and purposefully meandered back to her, looking like he knew some grand secret.

"He's... got... a... crush... on... you, Jody Powell," Peter said with a dramatic smirk, poking her on the shoulder for added emphasis at the end.

"No, Peter," she argued. "He's just being sweet, that's all."

"Let him down easy, Jody. Don't you dare break his heart," Peter teased, shaking his still pointed finger at her.

"You know, you're one of the most irritating people I've ever known."

"Yeah, but also one of the cutest," he quipped as he walked away from her, still shaking his finger skyward.

"Arggh," she muttered as they exited the precinct.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Come on, Richie. We've got some cleaning to do in here," Victor said as he unlocked a door to one of the secured storage lockers. "This place hasn't been cleaned in ages. I can't stand it any longer. We'll work in here until it's time to go home or we need a candy bar, whichever comes first."

Richie grinned broadly. "I know, Victor." His head continued to nod as he added, "I know the candy bar will be first."

Pulling down on Richie's baseball cap, Victor chuckled, "Yeah, I know, too. We are so bad, kid. Remember, you can't tell the wife I have a sweet tooth at work or I'm done for!"

Victor's response made Richie laugh out loud before he covered his mouth with his enormous hands to suppress his giggles. "That's right, Victor. We can't tell her... _ever_."

"Good going, kid. You remembered. Now, let's get to work."

Looking around the room, Victor said, "Since you're younger and better looking than me, you climb up on the step ladder and dust the shelves. I'm going to wash that window... it's filthy!"

Obediently, Richie pulled the ladder over to the shelving, and then retrieved his dusting supplies and climbed the first few steps of the ladder.

"Don't go up too high, son," Victor warned softly. "Remember, I know you as well as I know my own kids. You're still fretting over those bozos who were hassling you, aren't you?"

Richie stopped working without turning to look back at Victor and nodded his head solemnly.

"Talk to me, Richie," he quietly urged, knowing Richie needed to talk now or he'd suffer for it later, allowing his anger to stew until it became a problem.

In a quiet voice struggling to be brave, Richie said, "They were treating me like I was really stupid. I'm not stupid, Victor, I'm not."

"Of course, you're not, Richie," Victor said firmly, taking a step closer to him, but knowing better than to do more than that when Richie's emotions were high. He didn't want the young man to storm away, riding the rush of strong feelings.

"I hate it when people think I'm stupid, Victor," Richie said bitterly as he finally turned to face his mentor while still on the ladder.

"Richie, you can't let them get to you like this. They're the ones who are stupid. No, they're worse than stupid, they're just plain ignorant."

"Yeah, they are." Richie's head bobbed up and down in agreement.

"They really, really are. They think that I'm so stupid just because I don't talk as fast as they do or act all cool."

Richie's demeanor rapidly turned hostile. Victor had seen it before and knew he had to nip that transformation in the bud – otherwise he'd be sending the young man home early to cool off.

Victor smoothed his mustache a bit before he asked. "How about we tackle that candy bar a little early today?"

"No, no, Victor, I'm okay. I just got a little mad. I'm sorry. I need to do my work."

Victor studied Richie's open, apologetic face for a long while, then patted Richie's arm as a sign of his approval.

"Okay, Richie, let's get back to work then. If we don't finish in here soon, both of us might be looking for a new job anyway. I'm too danged old to learn a new job like working on those fancy-schmancy computer gizmos."

Smiling widely, Richie nodded his head without looking back, then he turned to resume his work. "I know how to use a computer, Victor. They taught us how to use them at my school."

"Well, one of us is more than enough in my book, kiddo. See, you're already smarter than me. Can't stand even looking at 'em."

Victor shivered dramatically. Even though Richie wasn't looking at him, he knew Richie would be able to hear the drama in his voice. He glanced over at Richie as he went back to work himself, relieved that Richie's dark mood had passed.

_Poor kid. He's just smart enough to know he's not smart enough. If I'd found those jerks... _

Interrupting his thoughts, Victor saw one of the canisters jiggle a bit on the shelf and he said, "Be careful of those canisters, son. Who knows what the heck is in those things. They bring 'em in here after some big drug bust and have to keep 'em as evidence. Everyone forgets about 'em, except us. And why? 'Cause we're the ones who have to dust 'em, that's why!" Victor said, beginning one of his long tirades as he finished the window and moved to the desk beside Richie.

Victor knew that most of the precinct employees shied away from his lengthy rants. Lord knows, he didn't blame them, but Richie never seemed to mind. That kid was always happy to be around him like some puppy dog around a beloved master.

Maybe, it was because Victor always treated Richie like a normal person. It seemed like Richie didn't care what Victor wanted to talk about, just as long as he could be around him.

Victor was still lamenting about the life's inequities when, without warning, Richie lost his balance. Grabbing at the containers as he tried to find a firm hand hold, he and the canisters went tumbling to the ground. Canisters went bouncing against the shelving, the ladder and Richie, some of them opening up, spilling their contents all over himself and his supervisor down below him.

The older man, who was nearing retirement age, was taken by surprise by the sudden collision and fell to the ground hard as Richie and the still draining canisters landed on top of him.

Other items from the nearby desk fell to the floor around them, along with books, files, and a small desk lamp. The smell from the assortment of chemicals that had spilled caused Richie to gag.

The younger man recovered faster than Victor did though, getting to his knees, his arms waving in animated panic over the mess he had inadvertently created and over the possible harm he had caused to Victor.

"Victor? Victor! Are you okay?" Richie went to help him up.

Victor had more serious issues to deal with. He clutched at his chest and gasped. "It's my heart, Richie... Need my pills."

"Your heart pills? Okay, okay, I'll get them, Victor. Where are they?" he asked in a rush, remembering how sick his mother got if he took too long to bring them to her when her heart was acting up.

"My–my pocket," he whispered, his coloring rapidly turning gray.

"Okay, I'll get them," Richie said, but as he moved forward on the slick floor, his foot slipped out from underneath him and he went careening back down to the tiled floor, falling backward landing away from Victor, right on top of the desk lamp still plugged into the wall socket.

The light bulb shattered. An exposed wire came in contact with Richie's wet clothing, causing an electrical surge to pass through his body.

Richie cried out in surprise and pain, his muscles instantly rigid, then spasming uncontrollably. Victor realized what was happening and grabbed the wooden wide-bottomed broom near his arm.

Using it, along with the last of his strength, he caught the edge of the electrical cord and yanked the cord from free from the wall socket. The action released Richie from the deadly electrical current and death.

Dropping the broom handle, Victor again clutched at his chest as the crushing weight of his heart attack nearly incapacitated him. All he could do was stare at Richie, whose face was only about a foot from his and pray that he had acted quickly enough to spare the young's man life.

Having survived two previous heart attacks, he knew this one was much more serious than the others and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to survive it.

**oOoOoOoOo**

All Victor could do was stare at Richie, knowing his face was etched in pain. Though, Ritchie's muscles were still twitching violently and he was unable to speak, he did manage to flop one arm over towards Victor. His hand landed atop Victor's head and he rubbed his fingers across Victor's forehead, as if wanting him to know he was there for him.

Victor tried to smile bravely, but he knew he had failed. He could feel himself slipping away. He was in his final moments of life; now, his tears of pain became tears of remorse over leaving behind his wife of forty-nine years, their seven children, and twelve grandchildren.

Suddenly, Victor's eyes widened not in fear of his impending death, but because of a strange tingling sensation coming from Richie's hand where it lay on his forehead. As he glanced toward Richie, he saw shock and confusion on the younger man's face as well. Instead of going away, the sensation simply grew in intensity and tone.

And then, the contact became painful, more painful than the crushing pain of his chest. The two men looked wide-eyed at each other in a shared bewilderment as the process continued to gain momentum.

Richie's hand that was still touching Victor's head went rigid again from the contact, just as surely as if he had grabbed a handful of exposed electrical wires.

Victor drew his last breath and exhaled slowly. His death rale was something much longer and slower than Richie would have ever imagined involved in dying, had he been paying attention to it, but Richie was lost in a new world of facts, information and wisdom.

In a word, knowledge. Pure and unadulterated knowledge. His mind was besieged by the flow of knowledge from Victor's mind to his. Suddenly, he understood a multitude of truths that seemed to have escaped him his whole life.

Minutes later, as Richie became cognizant of the world around him, his gaze focused on Victor and his unmoving eyes. Placing a hand on Victor's chest, he knew the old man was gone. Somehow, in Victor's loss of life, Richie had gained something extraordinary.

Though, his muscles still quivered as an aftereffect of his electrical shock, he sighed and tried to start crawling towards the door.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"I know you're right, Jody," Peter begrudgingly admitted as they walked back into the station from his car. "But I can't shake this feeling that I _have_ to go back _now_. Sorry, I've gotta do this... something feels wrong – like really wrong. _Like people are gonna die if I don't do this _kind of wrong."

"I swear to God, Peter, you are one of the strangest people I've ever known," Jody said, shaking her head.

"I thought I was one of the most irritating."

"That, too," she shot right back at him as she fussed with her long blonde tresses.

Peter's expression brightened momentarily as he raised a pointed finger, "But?"

"I know, I know,_ but _also one of the cutest." Jody smiled right back at him, despite her irritation as they paused in the hallway on the way to the bullpen. "_You_ are impossible, Caine!"

Peter's warm smile vanished completely as he reached forward with one hand towards the closed door before him, almost like a blind man searching for safe passage. It was only a storage closet as far as Peter knew.

"What is it, Peter?" Jody asked, sudden concern evident on her face as she came closer to her partner.

Peter went to speak, then stopped, and started again. "It's here."

"What's here?" Jody asked with a hint of exasperation.

Ignoring her completely, Peter was suddenly driven to follow the urgent direction of his inner voice. He was listening so intently to that inner voice as his hand went to the doorknob, he almost didn't hear Jody exclaim, "But, Peter, that door is always locked!"

He turned the knob and wasn't surprised to find it unlocked. When he opened the door, he found the sprawled bodies of Victor and Richie through the hazy fumes of unknown chemicals, though Richie was still trying to move.

"Help me. Peter, Jody... help," he whispered before passing out.

Since Jody knelt down to check on Richie, Peter ran over to Victor, but stopped short when he saw Victor's lifeless eyes staring off into the next realm of existence. Still, he reached down and checked for a pulse as he swallowed back a bitter sense of loss.

Nothing. The poor man couldn't have been dead long. It had only been minutes since they had left the two men in the hallway, but Victor's skin was already cooling rapidly.

_Maybe Nicky will be able to explain what happened... Damn it! If I had heeded those warnings in my head a little faster, maybe all of this could have been avoided! _

Peter glanced back towards Jody, shaking his head grimly to let her know Victor was dead. Jody looked away, obviously struggling with emotion, but she had her hands full with Richie, trying to comfort his painful moans.

_Maybe we can still save Richie, _he prayed as he leapt into action, rushing out into the hallway, and shouting for his colleagues to call 911.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richie woke up in the hospital slightly disoriented and uncomfortable from the electrical burns he suffered in the accident. The doctors had told his mother he was lucky to still be alive. And the burn on his back he'd received in the accident was mild. Given the severity of the mishap, it was healing at a phenomenal pace.

In short, Richie was fine, but just to be on the safe side, they were keeping him in the hospital for a few days for observation.

When he first awoke, he looked at his mother as if he was studying her with a new set of eyes. She was still a lovely woman, though tired with fatigue and worry, and her heart condition left her with little additional energy.

Dorina noticed her son's silent scrutiny. "What is it, Richie?" she asked as she placed a hand upon his arm.

"You're... so pretty, Mom," he said appreciatively.

His flattering words sparked a flurry of self-conscious motions in his mother that ended as she ran a hand through her graying hair. He smiled broadly as he took her hand and kissed it gently. "No, really, you are. I never noticed that before."

"Well, thank you, son. It's so sweet of you to mention it, though I must look a sight at the moment. Now, let's talk of more important things. How are you feeling? Is the pain bad? The nurse said to let her know if it was."

She waited anxiously for his response, but the response that followed took her by surprise.

"I... feel... _great_! Just like Tony the Tiger... Grrrrrrrreat!" Richie said after a long moment, laughing aloud at his own joke.

Obviously startled by the levity of Richie's answer, Dorina reached forward and took his hand. Noticing his mother's more serious mood, Richie responded by raising his head from the pillow and gave her a questioning look.

Deciding that she couldn't put it off any longer, Dorina asked, "Richie, do you remember how you were hurt?"

Seeing that she was expecting her question to upset him, he searched his memories and came up with nothing after the encounter with the teens in the hallway. "No... what happened, Mom? Did I do a bad thing?"

Richie's last question was a throwback to his younger days when he would inadvertently get into serious situations without meaning to. It was enough to cause Dorina's breath to catch in her chest, as if she knew her next statement would hurt Richie deeply.

"It's Victor, Richie. He was hurt in the same accident as you were. He's..."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Richie asked solemnly, suddenly very tired and in pain.

His earlier exhilaration disappeared with the flood of memories that cascaded in his mind. He reached outward with both hands as tears fell freely and the staggering grief of the loss hit him. He wept for his substitute father figure, as if Victor had been the real thing.

Before he could say anything, the shift nurse came in to give Richie his scheduled pain meds and to check his dressings.

"Are you okay?" the nurse asked, seeing Ritchie's tears.

Dorina started to explain, but Ritchie shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Just sad because my friend died."

The nurse's features shifted and she placed a hand on his bed. "I heard about that. I'm so sorry. If you need anything, just press the call button."

As she turned to walk away, her mind obviously on other things, Ritchie made a quiet announcement, "It's not plugged in."

The nurse paused and looked back at him, as if she wasn't sure she heard him right. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

"The IV pump. It isn't plugged in."

"What?" The nurse glanced at the IV line, then at the pump. "Well, if you aren't right. It's running on battery. It must have been knocked loose when the housekeeping staff was in earlier. Thank you."

The nurse walked around and plugged it in again, then checked the readings again. "That's a good catch. How did you know that?"

"The noise was wrong," Richie said as he settled back against his pillow, absently wiping at some residual tears.

He closed tired eyes and said, "Victor's brother was on one of those pumps for months and he knew exactly how they worked."

The nurse frowned slightly for a moment, but then she was called away by one of the other nurses out in the hall. Turning back to Ritchie, she said, "Well, thanks. You rest now."

When Richie opened his eyes again, his mother was still sitting at his side with a slightly puzzled expression on her lips. He smiled at her and all of her questions seemed to vanish as she returned his smile with one of her own.

**oOoOoOoOo**

It was in the wee hours of the morning and Richie's mother had long since gone home. Richie heard some slight rustling and opened his eyes to see a hospital phlebotomist at his side, preparing to take blood.

"Sorry to wake you, Richie, but it's time for another blood draw."

"So they can tell if the electricity hurt my heart?" Richie asked slowly.

The young man smiled, "Yes, that's right. You remembered, very good. Now, you'll feel a slight pinch. It'll only last a second."

"You're better than the other lady. Her pinches hurt. _A lot_," he said as he nodded his head in silent agreement with himself.

The hospital worker laughed as he said, "Well, Richie, they can't all be as good as Joey Villanova. Now, you can go back to sleep until the next blood draw in about four hours."

"Will you still be here?" Richie asked, anxious to have Joey do the unpleasant duty again.

"That's what it says on my timecard, but I'd much rather being playing Tetris on my computer," he said with a mischievous chuckle in his voice.

Richie had told him earlier that he just learned how to play the game.

"Yes! Me, too!"

"Well, I'll see what I can do... a friend of mine has a laptop. Maybe, I can sneak it away for a while and we can show each other the tricks of the game. How does that sound?"

"It sounds great! Thanks, Joey!"

"Okay, Richie, I'll see you later, but it's lights out for now or you'll have the nurses after me."

Having completed his task, Joey reached to turn off the overhead light he had switched on in order to take Richie's blood sample when Richie touched his hand.

Somehow, the contact from Richie combined with his contact on the electrical switch caused electricity to arc from the switch to his hand, sending both Richie and himself into spasms.

The power went browned out on everything using that same circuit breaker as the two men were trapped in the electrical surge. It all happened so fast, the phlebotomist's body swayed and there was enough momentum to knock him free of the flow of electricity.

As the man fell across his body, Richie never released his hold on him. Instead, he tried to keep him from slipping from the bed to the floor as his heart galloped in his chest. Somehow, he sensed Joey was very close to death.

Distantly, Ritchie was aware of people rushing around in the hallway and beyond, of an encroaching darkness, but none of that was important as he looked deeply into Joey's eyes and placed a shaky hand upon his cheek to give comfort to the dying man.

_No! Not again!_ Richie thought as his head pushed back into his pillow. His body stiffened with the sudden onslaught of knowledge rushing into his mind.

Again, facts and figures – information in its purest form – assaulted his thinking and he felt a euphoria unlike anything he had ever known before. Then, he felt Joey die and his limbs went painfully rigid as he went into a grand mal seizure.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter and Jody stopped by to check on Richie first thing as soon as they heard he'd had another electrical accident while in the hospital. They found his mother there, obviously distraught as she waited in a silent vigil beside Ritchie.

"Dorina, has there been any change? We came over as soon as we heard," Peter asked her in a hushed voice as he gave her a comforting hug, followed by Jody.

"No, he's still unconscious. Mary, Mother of Jesus, please give me strength. Electricity has almost claimed my boy three times now. How much more does one soul have to bear?"

"Do they know what exactly happened? I understand the hospital employee with him died as a result of the electrocution."

Peter moved forward a bit as he asked his question, though his eyes remained on Richie's pale face.

"No, no, nothing other than the possibility of a bad light switch. They moved Richie to this room as far away from the accident as possible. There's been a constant flow of doctors and nurses through here, but so far, my Richie is still unconscious."

Her voice broke as she mentioned Richie by name. She recovered quickly enough to continue. "The doctors just aren't sure about the effects of those chemicals he was splashed with. That combined with the effects of repeated exposure to electricity. I think they're just using it as an excuse because they don't have any idea what's going on with Richie! I learned long ago not to trust all doctors."

She stopped speaking and walked over to rest a trembling hand against her son's pale cheek. "I've been praying ever since this happened that he would be his old lovable self, but a mother's intuition is telling me that something's changed. I'm afraid."

Her voice caught as she spoke, "I'm afraid I'm going to lose him for good this time."

Peter placed a steadying hand on Dorina's back, wishing his father, Kwai Chang Caine, was present to help comfort her during this traumatic time, but he was on a short trip with Lo Si for a few days.

He searched her expression before saying softly, "Dorina, remember your own health – your heart isn't in the best shape. You have to remain calm for both your sakes. Just give him some time. He'll be back to normal soon."

Turning her tear-filled gaze towards Peter, she whispered, "From your lips to God's ears, I pray, Peter." She hugged him again and as she held him, she whispered into his ear, "You've always been such a dear and caring spirit. Ever since high school when you'd stay after class to help me. Then you got to know Richie and helped by being a Big Brother. I can never repay you for that. I knew you were special from the first time we met."

Peter replied back to her in the same hushed tone, reserved for being around the sleeping, the very ill, or the dead. "I was the one who won out of this deal, Dorina. Always got back more than I put into it."

Closing red-rimmed eyes for a moment, she leaned forward and kissed Peter on the forehead.

"Thank you both for coming. Richie has always valued your friendship. You two are practically all he talks about, aside from Victor. Oh, my God, I can't lose him."

Dorina covered her trembling lips briefly before stepping away to move back to Richie's side. Placing her hand to his ashen cheek, she said, "I just can't imagine living life without Richie's smiling face to keep me going. Please, Lord, take care of my boy."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Dorina's prayers were answered shortly afterward when Richie awoke. He was disoriented, but again recovering with amazing speed. Later, Richie asked his mother to bring in some books for him to read because he was bored.

When Dorina brought in his regular books, he got angry with her. "Mom, those are books for kids! I'm twenty-four, I should be reading grown up stuff."

So, on her next visit, she brought him more mature reading material, though they were geared mostly for young teens, only to be surprised to find him reading US News & World Report.

"Richie? You never wanted to read magazines like that before."

"It's time I know what's happening in the world, Mother."

"M-Mother? Richie, you've always called me Mom. What's happening here, son?"

Her internal alarm system blasted subtle warnings about the changes she had seen in her son since his accident.

"I'm growing, Moth–Mom. You just need to let me be the man that I am."

"Okay, honey. I was just curious," Dorina acquiesced, but the warning alarms never completely quieted. If anything, they grew. Again, the worry she felt about her dear son returned, only in a very different form now.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richie went home not long after that. Even though, he wanted to return to work as soon as possible, his doctors required another week to rest and recuperate. For the first time he could ever remember, his mother's careful watching was extremely irritating.

He knew over the course of his life, he could get moody at times, but his mother always came up with the right words to soothe his troubled spirit. That was no longer the case. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid her hovering.

She often found him up wandering the apartment at all hours of the day and night. Or worse, he was just standing at the living room window staring out. It seemed to hurt her feelings that she couldn't help him with the questions that plagued him on an increasing basis since the accident.

"Son, there seems to be a different light in your eyes these days," she whispered as she brushed his curly locks from his eyes. He tried not to flinch, but the reaction didn't go unnoticed by her and she stepped back to give him more space until finally, she left him alone and went to do the evening dishes.

Richie realized something profound was happening to him, puzzling as it was, and he often pulled deep within himself. Even the much welcomed visits from Detective Peter and Jody didn't keep him smiling very long after they had left.

"Richie, why don't you run down to Stimson's Hardware and pick out the makings for a new wood project?" Dorina asked him one morning when he was nearly climbing the walls of the small apartment.

He paused for a moment, considering her suggestion before he smiled broadly and kissed her on the forehead. "I think that's just what I will do."

"Let me get you some money," she said, automatically reaching for her pocket book.

"No, Mother, it won't take much to buy what I have in mind. I have enough with me to get it. Thanks anyway," he said, shrugging into his lightweight jacket.

"Oh, okay," she said softly, putting a hand to her chin.

Richie recognized the look and hugged her. "I know this is confusing for you, Mother. Imagine how I feel, to know intuitively how much my purchases will cost and how much money I have in my wallet. That was something I was never able to do before. It's a miracle from God," he said softly as he hugged her again, then went to the front door.

A quick wave from him caused her to repeat the gesture back to him, but he could tell she was scared and worried about the rapid changes she was seeing in him. He just didn't know how to tell her he'd be okay.

**oOoOoOoOo**

It was a cloudless March morning as he took off for Stimson's Hardware. The store's employees all recognized him by sight, and a group of them stopped him.

"Richie, we just wanted to say that we heard about what happened at work and at the hospital. We sent you some flowers. Did you get them?" the department manager asked as the other four other employees gathered around him.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks, you guys didn't have to do that. I really appreciate it, thanks."

"Sorry to hear about your friend, Victor," the manager said. Then, he gave Ritchie a broad smile as he finished, "But, man, we're glad you came through it all right. So good to see you!"

A round of hearty handshakes ensued before Richie slipped away, only to be lost in the time warp of wood selection, stains, tools, and assorted other supplies. The employees left him on his own, knowing how much Richie enjoyed the selection process.

He had decided on using a redwood base and couldn't find a piece of wood to his liking. So, he searched out Cory Nichols, the store's resident expert on wood supplies and social rebel. Though, Cory dressed and acted like a kid, he was actually in his sixties.

A true rebel in the age of social unrest, Cory had eventually settled down enough to hold down a job and work on his political beliefs through a more practical process. Still, he had a distinct hatred for policemen, having lost a brother in the more radical days of the 1960's. Cory gave Richie a break, despite working at the police station, or the _Pigsty_ as he called it, because everybody had to find a job where they could and he loved Richie's way with wood.

He found Cory using a forklift at the rear of the store rearranging palates.

Richie called out, "Cory, I need your help."

"You've got it, kid. Give me a sec," Cory shouted back over the noise of the engine as he backed up. Richie's momentary distraction was enough to cause him to forget about a palette he had just brought out and backed right into the towering stack of wood.

The whole thing shifted right onto Cory, trapping him in his seat in the process and injuring him badly. Richie went to him immediately, but it was obvious he was dying.

Screaming for help, he turned back to Cory to offer him some support in his final moments. He took Cory's bloody hand to hold as he placed his other hand on the forklift console for balance. Something in that connection with the still running machine and the near-death Cory brought about another euphoric, yet unnatural occurrence.

Richie's mind was once again flooded with knowledge and memories – thoughts not in the least his own. Just as surely as if someone had switched on a brilliant spotlight, blinding him in the process, the rest of the world just faded away.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After another visit to the hospital, Richie's demeanor had changed even more. Dorina had called Peter in tears, telling him that though Richie was much quicker with his responses and stunned those who knew him with his sharp-edged replies, there was an anxious air about him like he was hungry, but she didn't know what he was hungry for.

Peter knew from his own visits to the hospital over the past few days, Richie was reading practically all the time, sleeping only when the hospital staff made him to do, and was especially irritable when forced to do things he didn't want to do.

Peter walked in on one such occasion, just as Richie was throwing his dinner tray across the room, badly frightening a hospital volunteer.

"Richie!" Peter shouted sharply before Richie threw something else at the young woman. "That's enough! What's going on here?"

"I told her I wasn't hungry! Why don't people just listen to me!" Richie shouted right back at him.

Peter stepped in front of the trembling woman, placing himself between her and Richie's uncharacteristic anger. "Richie, I'm listening. Tell me what you want to say."

Reaching backwards slightly, Peter took the woman's arm and jerked his head, indicating for her to leave. The woman didn't hesitate and ran from the room.

"I _want_ to go home! I _want_ to be left alone! I _want_ everyone to stop hovering over me!" Richie said, pushing his bedside table away from his bed in a petulant show of anger.

"Well, once the doctors have figured out why you are having these seizures, you can go home – "

"I'm fine, damn it!" Richie shouted and Peter gave him a queer look, trying to remember if he had ever heard Richie curse before.

"No, you aren't fine, Ritche. The tests they have run so far show – "

"They show that I've developed some aberrant form of epilepsy – a form not matching up with any other documented form of epilepsy. It could be temporary, or it could be permanent. Yeah, I know all about it. I _still_ want to go home!"

Richie's recanting of the doctor's words, almost verbatim, shocked Peter. He recovered enough to fold his arms across his chest and stood silently.

"What? Aren't you going to give me the third degree, too? Or tell me what a bad boy I've been?"

Richie's tone was still bitter and hostile.

Peter remained still, allowing Richie to slow down before speaking in his low voice reserved for serious matters. "No, I'm waiting until you've run out of steam, so I can have a real conversation with you, instead of having you interrupt me every time I start to say something. Or throwing things at innocent people who are volunteering their time to help patients just like you."

Reacting to Peter's quiet speech, Richie brought his fists to his temples, now almost in tears. "What's happening to me? Why am I acting like this? There's so many strange thoughts in my head."

Peter's aloof manner disappeared with that admonition and he went to Richie's side, though he was confused by the strange vibes he was getting off of the younger man. Peter ignored it and launched right into words of comfort, seizing the momentary lull to connect with him.

"You're not alone, Richie. You aren't. You'll get through this. We'll help you get through this."

"My-my head is killing me," Richie whispered.

Peter started to reach for the call button for the nurse when a firm hand stopped him. "I'm... okay. Just stay with me."

Peter hesitated. Again, he was struck by a wave of unease created by Richie's roiling emotions, then said, "Okay, pal, as long as it doesn't get any worse. Talk to me, though. I need to know how you are doing."

"Sometimes, it's like I'm not myself anymore, but someone else. Lots of other people, in fact. It gets so confusing and the headaches – the headaches are a real bitch!"

Peter chuckled despite himself at Richie's heartfelt proclamation, because it was so sincere. "I guess so, Richie. Well, hang in there. It'll pass."

Suddenly, Richie jerked away from Peter's comforting pat on the arm and hissed at him as he pressed his fists to his temples even tighter. "You pig! No cop touches me and lives!"

For a moment, Peter thought Richie had to be kidding, but his budding Shaolin senses told him otherwise. Before he could react, Richie screamed a hoarse cry of pain and collapsed.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Chapter 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Richie's neurologist, Doctor Geoffery Koffenfield, a physically fit man with brown eyes and a shaved head, entered Richie's hospital room still looking over Richie's chart. "Richard, your last EEG and brain scan shows improved control using our revised regiment of anti-epileptic medications, though the control is not yet to the point I'd like for it to be. At least, it's enough to send you home and we will continue to tweak the dosage until everyone is happy with it."

Dorina breathed a sigh of deep relief with the doctor's announcement. "Oh, Richie, that's wonderful news."

Richie smiled briefly before asking, "So, I can leave now?"

"No, not until morning. It's late in the day. Besides, I'd like to have you under observation for one more night before setting you free."

Dorina saw her son tense with irritation. "I'm not some lab rat for you to have under a microscope, you know!"

The doctor smiled with a wealth of patience. "I know, I apologize for my terminology. It did sound rather clinical, didn't it?" Koffenfield took a deep breath before adding, "I must admit you have certainly drawn the attention of the medical profession with your dramatic improvement as far as the IQ testing went. I'm not sure how word has gotten out, but we've had calls from Stanford and Yale expressing interest in conducting studies with you.

"It's unfortunate that you are not interested in proceeding with any further testing, but I can certainly understand your point of view. If you ever reconsider, please call." The doctor laughed and added, "I had to personally vouch that I'd received the proper documentation verifying you were the same person who had taken both sets of tests.

"Seems they were astounded by such impressive results. Since then, they've been hounding me – but that's my problem, not yours."

"You've got that right, Doc," Richie said with a hard, sarcastic laugh, drawing Dorina's attention.

"Richie, please, don't be rude to the doctor."

After flashing her an angry look, Richie acquiesced. "Sorry, Mother. I'm just tired. And I want to go home as soon as possible."

The doctor played with Richie's chart for a moment before saying, "Not a problem. Rest is the best thing for you. Get a good night's sleep and you'll be home before you know it. I'll stop by in the morning before you leave."

"Bye, Doc," Richie said, closing his eyes almost immediately.

Dorina gave her son a stern look, suspecting that he was purposefully faking sleep to avoid her evil eye, but she let him lie in peace anyway and went for a cup of coffee, along with a walk to think things through.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richie was released from the hospital and sent home the next morning as scheduled, but this time, his demeanor was even more changed. He kept to himself and would disappear for hours on end, frightening Dorina. She couldn't erase the image in her mind that he'd had another seizure and was alone somewhere in need of medical attention, only to have him walk in the door as if everything was perfectly fine.

But it wasn't just his medical well-being she was worried about. His compassion and gentleness for others seemed to be vanishing at an alarming rate. She was at her wits' end on how to help him, especially when he seemed to resent any concern on her part.

She was thinking about him when he came from his bedroom. Apparently, he was dressed to go out for the night.

"Where are you going, Richie?"

Richie sighed before turning towards her.

"Please, Mother, call me Rich or Richard. Richie is a kid's name."

Tears formed in her eyes faster than she could blink them away and she couldn't meet his gaze as she said, "This is all happening so fast, Rich–Richard, that I forget at times. I'm sorry."

Richie gave her a hug, but it was nothing like her old Richie's bear hugs, where his whole body and soul went into the embrace. She was aware sadness must have been painted across her face and she sighed in that bittersweet ache of loss, unable to mask it any longer.

"I'm going out for a while, Mother, but I won't be late."

"Fine, Ri-Richard. I'll be here, just as I've always been."

She thought her voice sounded very old as it rang in her ears and wondered where in the world Richie kept disappearing to.

He kissed her quickly on the forehead before replying, "Yes, you have and I love you for it. I'll see you later."

The door slammed shut so quickly, it startled her out of her bleak musings and a lonely tear slipped down her weary cheek.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"No, Paul, it wasn't like my being a cop was any huge revelation to Camryn. She knew I was a cop from the very start, but she did think by being a psychology major, she'd be able to either change her fears about my safety or change my choice of professions."

Peter remembered Camryn's long legs with a soft sigh and how she could always make him laugh without hardly trying. She was also a big Don Henley fan and nearly drove him nuts playing his solo albums and those made with the Eagles, too.

Peter frowned, thinking of Camryn was like reopening a painful wound. He sighed and continued. "She – she finally realized I wasn't cut out to be anything but a cop. It's who I am and it's what I do," Peter said sincerely, though still at odds with their recent breakup, wishing there had been a way for compromise without having to give up what they both loved.

A waiter came by to refill Paul's coffee cup, then left to attend to other patrons. They were at Paul's favorite Cajun restaurant for lunch, though Paul's stomach usually reminded him afterwards that spicy foods weren't appreciated.

Peter threw his napkin on the table. "Ah, hell! Give me a boatload of unsolved murders any day rather than dealing with relationship problems!" he said dramatically, eliciting a chuckle from Paul.

"Be careful what you wish for, Peter," Paul said as he sighed deeply.

The recent flurry of unsolved deaths involving the homeless population had become a thorn in both men's sides because they were left with few leads to follow in the case, despite increasing the number of officers working on the streets.

Paul seemed to read Peter's mind as he shook his head and said, "Peter, I'm not even sure that there's anything suspicious involved in these mysterious deaths."

"Well, I'm gonna find the answer, criminal or otherwise." Peter frowned. "It doesn't help any that Jody took a few days off."

"Peter, everyone is allowed a life outside of the 101st. You should consider the thought yourself some time."

Peter stopped and grabbed Paul by the arm in jest. "They are?"

"Yes, they are. Now, let me pay the man for our lunch and we'll get back to the slave shop," Paul said with a chuckle as he paid their lunch tab.

Peter and Paul were just leaving the Cajun restaurant when they literally ran into Richie Petry on the street. There was a very uncomfortable moment as Richie recognized them, and glanced around, looking for a way out. When he finally realized there was no way he could avoid them, he sighed and stuck out a reluctant hand in greeting.

Peter took the outstretched hand, but instead of his classic smile, he watched Richie with a wary expression of distrust – not that he thought Richie was dangerous or up to no good, it was just that he had no idea of the person Richie was becoming.

"Hi, Richie," Peter said finally, wondering how Richie was going to handle the situation. There were low grade warnings sounding inside his head, which Peter shut down in an effort to concentrate on Richard's transformation into adulthood.

"Peter. Captain Blaisdell." Richie nodded towards Paul rather than shaking his hand. "It's just Richard now."

"Oh yeah, your mom said you had gone to using Richard when I was over to visit her the other day. So, are you ready to go back to work yet?" Peter asked, reduced to making small talk as he took note of the expensive clothing Richie was wearing.

Richie smiled, but there was no warmth there, instead only a bitter expression capable of frosting anyone who peered too closely into its icy depths. "I think I've grown quite beyond that position by now, don't you agree?"

"Well, I guess so, just assumed you'd be back for some reason. How's your mother doing?"

"She's fine," Richie replied curtly.

"How's she adjusting to the new Richard?"

Another dark emotion crossed his face, but Richie worked to cover it quickly. "You'd think she'd be thrilled to have a more normal son, but she just seems so... sad lately."

"It's a big change for both of you. Twenty years of consistency gone overnight practically. Maybe, it's just a matter of you handing it better than she is at the moment."

"Maybe."

"Well, I'll try to stop by and say hi to her in the next couple of days. You know, bring her some flowers or something to help perk her up." Peter offered the suggestion as a way of helping out, but the goodwill was lost on Richie. In fact, the idea seemed to incite him.

"Look, Peter, she's _my_ mother. I'll take care of her. I am _more than able_ to take care of _my_ mother and myself now!"

"Richard," Peter started.

He was rapidly tiring of Richie's bad mood and manners. In fact, he found himself having trouble controlling his own temper as Richie ranted on.

"You must have really felt superior all those years when I'd been too stupid and ignorant to see through your _supposed_ caring while you acted as my _'Big Brother'_. Well, hear this, Peter Caine, we _don't_ need your help anymore! Especially, not your pity!

"In fact... " Richie paused as he leaned his face close to Peter's and whispered, his voice dripping with malice, "I _never_ want to lay eyes on you again! Do you hear me? Never again!"

Peter, who moments earlier had been filled with compassion for Mrs. Petry, now burned with anger and disappointment. Quite frankly, he didn't care one little bit for the man Richie had become. There was a harsh, uncaring edge to him – nothing like Richie's once gentle soul.

And there was something more... something seething within Richie's spirit, roiling and festering, throwing off Peter's Shaolin senses, masking him to all but intense anger.

Peter didn't flinch from Richie's aggressive and unprovoked behavior. Instead, he stood firm and responded in equal measure. "I hear you, _Richie_. I hear you loud and clear. And the feeling is mutual, understood? But your mother is a friend of mine and I still care about _her_, so I will visit her whenever I damned well please. _Do you hear me_?"

Richie's face darkened in response and Peter thought he was going to take a swing at him when he felt Paul's strong hands pulling him back. "Okay, boys, that's enough. This is a public street and there'll be no brawling here," Paul said, gruffly. "Why don't you just move it along, Richard?"

Paul had stated it as a question, but there was no mistaking the implicit order in his words. Richie's expression held barely restrained emotions before it twisted into a sarcastic dismissal.

"Ha! Sure, _Captain Blaisdell_, anything you say! Oh hey, I just remembered, I don't work at the precinct anymore! You can't boss me around like you used to! But poor _Detective Peter_, he has to jump when you say so, doesn't he? So, I'll just leave you now, but I'll be wondering who's the real man now? Me or poor Peter?"

Richie laughed at his comment – a pointed, cursing laugh. It was something haunting and evil, designed to stab at Peter and he continued it until he was out of auditory range.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter angrily shrugged out of Paul's comforting hand on his shoulder and started to follow Richard for another confrontation before Paul quietly uttered one word. "Peter."

It was enough to get Peter's attention, though his system still raced with unused adrenaline.

Paul softened his tone and stepped closer to him before suggesting, "Shake it off, son. Shake it off."

"Where the hell does he get off slinging crap like that!" Peter shouted as he took off in the opposite direction from Richard, his hand running through his hair with equal agitation.

Paul moved right along with him before he grabbed Peter's arm and stopped him to get his full attention. "He was deliberately pushing your buttons and you let him."

Renewed anger flashed into Peter's eyes before reason took over, though he struggled with it. Finally, he gestured in a quick nod before turning away to completely restrain his temper.

"Damn! For someone who never used to argue a few days ago, Richie sure did a bang-up job of it!" Peter let out a long breath, finally releasing the last of his emotion, then turned back towards Paul. "Excuse me, _Richard, _I should say."

He shook his head. "What the hell _is_ going on with him?" Peter asked in a more quiet tone, though there were still remnants of his anger floating within him. He tried using his Shaolin senses for guidance, but there was too much turmoil within his own spirit to discern anything.

Not waiting for Paul's response, Peter continued, "There doesn't seem to be any of the boy I once knew left in him. What _is_ going on with him?"

This time, Peter looked to Paul for the answer.

"I'm no psychiatrist, Peter. I'm just as confused about this as you are."

Paul started ambling back towards his car. "But you have to remember to tread softly with that man right now. He's had a whole world thrown at him in a few days time." Paul sighed as he sought the proper words to explain his meaning.

"It all boils down to a child suddenly thrust into an adult world of decision-making and into what appears to be no limitations whatsoever to that child. He feels now he shouldn't have anyone telling him what he can or cannot do. And he's making the kind of noises he thinks he should in order to defend his reasoning."

Paul rubbed at his neck before putting a hand outward to accentuate his explanation. "Imagine a seven year-old boy suddenly able to make decisions like all the adults he's ever known and admired. It's like that movie we saw when you were younger – that Tom Hanks movie. You and the girls loved it."

Peter paused for a second, then said, "Do you mean 'Big'? Was that the name of the movie? Penny Marshall directed it?"

"Yes, that's the one. But as in real life, situations like that are rarely as pure and innocent as a movie script depicts them. Richie's had to adjust so rapidly, he doesn't know if he's coming or going. Anger is the easiest and fastest way to deal with uncomfortable situations in children. Throw a temper tantrum and that solves everything."

"You might be right there, Dad," Peter said as he listened to his foster father, trying to understand with more than simple logic.

Again, he tried stretching out with his Shaolin senses, but repeatedly, he was blocked by his own emotions. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he realized he'd have to spend quite a bit of time meditating before he was going to get anywhere using that tact.

Peter knew his foster father was trying to understand the changes in Richie and was doing so by talking it through, employing the same method he figured out complicated cases by stating the facts aloud until they finally made sense.

"That's a mighty dangerous thing to place in the hands of someone incapable of fully understanding what they're doing, son. He doesn't have the years of trial-and-effort that helps to temper his desires, like the rest of us had when we were growing into adulthood."

He slowed his pace and turned towards Peter. "No, son, instead, he's got the intellect, but no practical experience whatsoever. Worse, he's got the emotional IQ of a child. I have a feeling it's going to get much worse for him before it starts to get better."

Paul shook his head in futility before he unlocked the car and moved around to the driver's side. Silently, Peter agreed with Paul and sighed in frustration at what was ahead for Mrs. Petry.

Paul settled into the driver's seat beside him and looked Peter over again. "You okay, son?"

Peter returned a weak smile and said, "It's okay, nothing a little hard work won't cure."

"Well, if it's hard work you want, you're going to the right place. The 101st is notorious for overworking its employees. Tell me again what Nicky said about the homeless victims found last night."

Peter launched into a recital of the facts the medical examiner, Doctor Nicky Elder, had given him earlier that morning, but his thoughts were elsewhere. More specifically, they were centered on Richie Petry and he wondered if that was truly their last encounter.

His nagging inner voice was whispering warnings, but it was much too quiet to identify any specifics yet. Peter wished his father, Kwai Chang Caine, was around, so he could help with his Shaolin powers, but he was still at least a week away from returning on his trip with Lo Si.

_'Maybe, a little meditation could help after all. It's that or waiting like everyone else to see if there really is trouble associated with Richie. And heaven only knows, I don't wait well.' _

**oOoOoOoOo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

After Richard's disturbing clash with his former friend, Peter Caine, he walked for hours, trying to work off his roiling emotions. Something about Peter incited him to rage faster than almost anyone else he knew.

So much seemed to have been handed to Peter automatically. Family, friends, good looks, brains, athletic prowess and a winning way with women. All the things that Richard never had – well, at least, not until now.

Though it was late March, it got dark much too early to suit Richard. Traveling from one neighborhood to another, the evening's growing darkness did nothing to improve Richard's dark mood either. Instead, in the cloak of shadows, he began to succumb to what was rapidly becoming his nightly routine.

For as the shadows grew, so did the myriad of voices screaming for attention within his mind and soul – voices that had first appeared with the deaths of Victor, then Joey, then Cory – voices that spurred his hunger for more knowledge. There was a way he'd found to maintain his newfound intelligence, but it came with a price. And along with it, came more killing, more deaths, and more voices inside his head.

Sunlight seemed to keep them at bay with the sunlight forcing them into hiding until the familiar hood of night gave them strength and courage to emerge again.

Anyone passing Richard on the street would have taken him for one of the rambling mentally ill, not only because he was whispering loudly to himself, but also replying in different voices and mannerisms, as if he was doing a one-man play with a multitude of parts.

_"Listen, you can't do this anymore, Richie! I know you like being smarter, but you're hurting other people just to keep what you have. And just maintaining where you are just isn't enough for you anymore. No, instead, you want more and more and more. It's like a drug that's gotten ahold of you, kiddo. You've got to shake this or it'll kill you." _

"No, Victor! You don't understand! If I don't do this, I'll be stupid again. I can't ever go back to that way of life. I'd die first!"

_"It would be better than killing anyone and everyone who happens to be unlucky enough to cross paths with you!" _

"You don't understand! I don't like the killing, but the alternative is much worse."

_"Don't listen to that old man, Rich! For the first time in your life, you are somebody! Make the most of it! You've got money and power to go where you want to go, do what you want to do, be who you want to be! Don't listen to any goodie-two-shoes who wants to stop you from taking what you want." _

"Yes, yes, you truly understand! I agree! The rest of the world be damned!" Richard laughed maniacally, scaring away a young couple out for an evening stroll.

_"It's that damned cop who's cramping your style, Rich!"_ Cory's voice came from Richard's lips. _"That damned pig who has been feeding you a crock of bullshit from the get-go. He needs a real comeuppance, that one does." _

"I know. For so long, I thought he was my best friend, but he was just stroking his own ego by playing nice guy to the village idiot. He'd be my first choice for some real payback if his disappearance wouldn't bring out every cop and his brother."

_"So what if it does? They've got nothing to tie you to these deaths. And that pig deserves to die!" _

"Yes, but then I'd have him floating around inside my head like the rest of you loonies and I can't stand that thought."

Richard laughed sarcastically and recognition of his madness tweaked his laughter into something almost pitiful.

_"You need to choose people with more smarts, boy. You're wasting your true potential by preying on the dregs of humanity." _

"Yes, but smarter people are more likely to be missed."

_"So? You're leaving this burg soon anyway." _

"But – but my mother – she needs someone to help take care of her."

The sound of the old Richie broke through and surprised everyone into a momentary silence. Richard continued his walking as the quiet continued unabated until he spied an older, uniformed guard getting out of his car, preparing to go into the building across the street, apparently to go to work.

Richie found that the older population gave him a whole lifetime of knowledge, so he had started shying away from anyone under thirty as a rule.

Joey Villanova's voice broke the silence. _"No, Richie, you can't do this. Killing isn't right." _

"No, Joey, it isn't right and I'll probably burn in hell for it, but how many times can you burn in hell? I mean, I've already killed, so if there's an afterlife, I'm already screwed. You know what? I think I'll continue to kill because I _like_ what happens to me when I lock in and start sucking away their knowledge!"

All debate was over as Richard slipped into his role of serial killer and fingered the taser in his pocket. He had found the self-defense device on the body of one of his victims.

Now, he used the taser to steal more knowledge and memories in the final moments of his victim by amping up his affinity for electricity. Electricity had always held a certain fascination for Richard, despite almost dying from its deadly effects.

Richard's hunger for knowledge became all-consuming. The rate of his murderous self-medication was rapidly accelerating until it reached the point he couldn't go a day without a fix, often more than that.

Richard found he could only initiate the process just as his victim was dying. Unfortunately, the process wasn't without its drawbacks. The voices in his head and the seizures were getting worse.

And Richie was amazed that no one had associated the random deaths of the city's destitute with him so far, but he knew his good luck wouldn't last forever. He had plans he was about to set into motion, then he'd head for a larger city – some place where he could lose himself in the masses and feed himself a steady supply of knowledge without anyone missing his victims.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Though Richie's mother had been initially thrilled by the miraculous changes in her son, she soon grew frightened her by the rapid and negative transformation that ensued. She would have given anything to have her dear Richie back at her side, instead of this dark, brooding stranger living under her roof.

She had never been afraid of Richie before, but she was now. The way he would disappear for hours on end, barely speaking when he returned. It made her feel much older than her fifty-two years.

Reading the headlines in the newspaper about a serial killer roaming the streets, she worried even more about Richie, so after worrying about him most of the night, when Ritchie finally came in, she confronted him. "Richard, we need to talk."

"Not now, Mother. I'm tired and I have a headache." He turned toward his room, barely acknowledging her presence.

Desperate to reach her son, she clutched his arm, determined she wasn't going to let go of him until he listened to her.

"You know, change can be a good thing, but you don't have to change so fast, Rich. It's not normal. Give yourself some time to settle into this new lifestyle."

"_It's not normal? _What exactly about my life has _ever_ normal, Mother?"

Richie seemed to bristle at her invasion into his private affairs.

Dorina bristled right back at him. "If I didn't know better, Richie, I'd think you were up to no good. The way you come home smelling of booze and cheap perfume... It's sinful and degrading! I don't _know_ you anymore! For all I know, you could be involved in those homeless murders!" She'd said the words in anger, never believing they could possibly be true.

Her son's expression went taut as he moved menacingly close to her.

"It's Richard, Mother. And damn it, what if I am the dreaded murderer of the destitute? It's not like the world's gonna miss them! They were the dregs of humanity anyway. I've done the world a favor by getting rid – "

Then the enormity of his rapidly uttered words sank in for both him and for his mother. Unable to deny the truth of his admission, Dorina's face went ash-white and she stumbled back into her easy chair, her petite frame landing heavily in the overstuffed armchair.

She took in great gasps of air, clutching a trembling hand to her chest. "It's true. Oh my Lord, it's true," she murmured, a fine mist of perspiration spread over her pale features.

"Mom? Mom? I didn't mean it, Mom!" Richie's familiar, gentle tone broke through her panic and pain and her head jerked up at the sound of her beloved son's voice. "I didn't mean for my smartness to ever hurt you, Mom. Never to hurt you! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you."

"R-Richie? My Richie? Are you still in there? Thank God, you're still there. I knew you couldn't have disappeared completely." She brushed a grateful hand across his face before clutching her chest again. "I love you, Richie. I'll always love you."

"Mom, don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. I'll make all those bad voices go to sleep, please just stay with me."

"Wish I could, baby, but I don't think – " The pain she was feeling suddenly mushroomed into crushing agony and it cut off her reply.

"No, stay! Stay! Stay, Mom, stay with me. Please. I promise I won't do any more bad things."

"It's up to you now... to do the right thing, son. Remember, I love – " Her hand went limp in his.

"NOOOO!" Richie screamed until he had no breath left, but when he inhaled again, Richard, the evil one, was back in control.

"Weak bastard. Almost too late to suck her dry, but not quite."

Richard closed his eyes as he placed his hands on her head, waiting for the blessed rush of knowledge to feed his out of control addiction – an addiction which no longer knew any restraints as he drained the knowledge from his dying mother and felt no remorse whatsoever.

Yet, it was not without consequences this time as something associated with taking knowledge from his own dying mother threw him into a prolonged, life-threatening seizure.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter felt a certain obligation to sit with Richard until he was awake and alert. It was something he attributed to a debt of responsibility to Dorina Petry, his former high school teacher, who had made his transition to the Blaisdell home a little easier for him so many years ago.

Somehow, Peter felt like it would make her own transition to the next life a little easier if he spent a few minutes of his time watching over her son. So, Peter sat in the darkened room and kept his silent vigil until Richard slowly awakened.

Peter was surprised to see little of the recent animosity present in Richard's grogginess. Richard's eyes narrowed into an unspoken question before a wave of sadness came across his features.

"Mom... she's gone, isn't she, Peter?"

Peter nodded a silent response, placing a hand on Richie's arm for a moment, then said as his own voice trembled with painful grief, "I'm sorry, Rich. She was a fine woman."

"Yes, yes, she was. And tough... I always suspected she'd outlive me."

Closing his eyes, Richard asked a question of Peter that almost sounded like the old Richie – almost but not quite.

"She was always such a good person. Taught me how to be good, how to do the right thing no matter what. Something that I've lost with my increased intelligence."

Richard paused and looked up at Peter. "Peter, do you believe in such a thing as good and evil?"

The question took Peter by surprise and he paused to think about his response as he studied the man before him. "My father likes to say no human soul is all good or all bad. It is that mixture of good and evil, which defines us all. Shadow and light, yin and yang, the eternal balance of life and death is present in all of us."

Richie nodded. Without opening his eyes, he whispered, "And some of us have more of that balance than others."

Peter moved closer, not understanding Richie's cryptic meaning, only to be stopped when Richie's eyelids flew open. Suddenly, it was like Peter was staring straight into the black heart of Satan himself.

"Get away from me before I kill you, pig! Get away from me _now_!"

Peter jumped back at the transformation and it was a good thing, because Richard lashed out with an angry fist, knocking over his bedside tray.

Everything clattered to the floor as Richard's voice screamed over the rattling din, "Get out of here! Get away from me now! Get away and never come back!"

Peter stumbled backward toward the wall as nurses and orderlies came running at the sound of trouble. Confused and puzzled, he drifted backward until he was out of the room and awkwardly made his way down the hallway with Richard's hoarse voice still screaming.

"Get away from me, Peter! Get away before I kill you! Kill you! Kill you! Kill you!"

If the truth be told, Richard's death threats stabbed at his soul more than any physical pain Peter had known in a long while. So bitter, so angry, so... not Richie.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richard was leaving a popular nightclub, following a potential victim when he bumped into Peter's ex-girlfriend, Camryn Caldwell. She recognized him immediately. She had been with Peter on numerous occasions when he had to stop by the Petry residence for one reason or another.

"Richie? Richie Petry? What are you doing in a place like this?" she asked incredulously.

Richard looked at Camryn for a moment before recognizing her, then he rapidly changed his plans. Assuming Ritchie's persona, Richard took on a pensive, lost demeanor.

"I know you... you're Detective Peter's girlfriend, right?"

"Yes, I'm Camryn. Well, actually, Peter and I have broken up. Say, does your mother know you are out this late?" she asked, gently taking his arm and moving to an area away from the entrance to the club and its excessive noise.

"No, I-I snuck out. We had an argument and I just started walking."

"You walked all the way from your apartment? Oh, Richie, honey, let me give you a ride home. It's just not safe for you to be out this late," Camryn said, giving him a quick hug, then reached inside her purse for her keys.

"Well, okay, Camryn, if it's not too much trouble."

"No, not at all. I'm just glad I ran into you," she said, stepping ahead of him to unlock her car.

Smiling deviously, Richie murmured as he fingered the taser in his pocket before he followed her to her car, "So am I."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter was running late for work, not something completely out of the norm for the busy detective. Instead of hitting the snooze, he had accidentally switched off his alarm when it rang in the darkened bedroom. So, when he finally did awaken, he was already ten minutes late for work.

His body was still moving faster than his mind as he ran from the shower, roughly toweling himself dry. He reached into his closet for clothes to wear, using the light from the bathroom to guide him since every moment counted and stopping to turn on a light was a privilege he didn't have at the moment.

Suddenly, he felt the icy cold brush of death's passage shimmer across his consciousness, more so than he had felt after his encounter with Richard a few days before.

He stumbled backward, tripping over some discarded shoes and landed on the carpet hard. The early morning darkness cast the room into a shadowy funeral dirge – one silently progressing past his prone position. He shivered uncontrollably, knowing it had nothing to do with the fact he had no clothes on.

He caught a whiff of familiar perfume and shouted Camryn's name so quickly, it even surprised him. Scrabbling on hands and knees, he reached for the telephone and rapidly punched in Camryn's phone number.

"Damn!" he shouted after switching off his cordless telephone when there was no answer.

He got dressed in a blur of activity and ran out of his apartment, barely remembering to shut the door behind him. "This elevator is taking too damned long," he said as he ran his hands through still wet hair.

He pulled his car keys out just as the elevator door opened on the basement garage floor. He started running for his car, but stopped when his heart began pounding in his chest and his mouth went dry.

Somehow, he knew death was around him, encroaching upon his path. He reached outward with his Shaolin senses as he started again for his car. When he didn't sense any active danger, he thought he must have misinterpreted the signs until he reached the driver's side of his car.

Someone had propped Camryn's dead body next to his car, leaving her to be discovered by him. The very sight of her staggered him, knocking the breath from his lungs just as surely as if he'd been sucker-punched. He dropped to his knees, letting go of his keys and jacket in the process.

Camryn had been badly beaten before dying. Tears welled up as he took her lifeless form into his arms and rocked her there, muttering the word 'no' over and over like it was a mantra powerful enough to bring her back from the dead.

Finally, he reined in his grief and gently laid her body upon the cold, cement floor of the parking garage. He covered her with his jacket and stood. He knew he should call into the precinct, bring in the forensic teams, get started on finding the bastard who killed her, but he seemed paralyzed.

Wiping his tear-soaked face with the back of his hand, he saw his car keys lying on the ground next to Camryn's body. He picked them up and jiggled them in his hand for a moment.

Just a few minutes earlier, the only thought on his mind was getting to work before Strenlich chewed on his butt for being late again. And now – and now, he couldn't get a clear thought to process through his clogged mind.

The jingling keys in his hand suddenly irritated him and he clutched them in a tight fist before lashing outward with both hands, extending both arms straight from his sides and screamed Camryn's name in the deserted garage as loud and long as his lungs would allow, leaving her name to echo in the vast garage – just as it would echo forever in his guilty heart.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Chapter 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When Frank Strenlich had pulled Paul out of a meeting with the police commissioner, Paul knew it had to be bad news. As a police captain, Paul was used to hearing bad news and dealing with it, but nothing in his life had ever taught him to easily accept the death of a person cut down in their prime, especially when murder was the cause. He prayed that day would never come for him. If it did, it was time to turn in his shield.

Paul found Peter staring at a blank wall in the parking garage and wondered what the young man was seeing right then. Looking at Peter's grieving body language, he knew his son's life had just screeched to a halt. It was his duty and obligation as a father and his superior to get him through this or there'd be hell to pay all the way around.

Clearing his throat, Paul made noises and acted like he had just walked up to Peter's location. Grief-stricken and despondent by his early morning discovery, Peter barely reacted until Paul put a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

"She's dead because of me," Peter whispered softly.

Paul bristled at Peter's words and the reaction didn't go unnoticed by Peter. He turned to fully face his father, his eyes wild with a furious guilt. "What? Tell me that I'm wrong! Tell me that if I hadn't met Camryn and started dating her, she would still be alive now! Tell me that, Paul!"

Paul never moved. He kept his expression steady until Peter stopped inches from him. Cupping Peter's anger-reddened face in both hands, he said, "I'm not going to tell you that, son. This killing was obviously meant as a message for you and you alone. What I reacted to was the guilt you so readily heap upon your own shoulders."

Peter pulled away from him and muttered, "Yeah, well, I'm only placing the blame where it deserves to be."

"The _blame_ goes with the killer. That's it. That's all," Paul stated emphatically.

He approached Peter again, standing close enough to hold him, but he waited for permission first.

Peter stared down at his hands. He kept rubbing at them before finally looking up at Paul with tear-filled eyes. "If – if that's where it belongs, then why do I keep seeing her face, her smile, hear her voice calling to me, all the while knowing she's dead because she knew me?"

"Son," Paul said, holding out his arms to embrace Peter.

Peter barely moved, but then he leaned towards Paul, who took him into his arms and held on tight.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Days later, Peter was still devastated by Camryn's death. Paul had wanted Peter to take some time off. That notion lasted about five minutes. Then, Paul finally assigned Peter a desk job, to be backup to Blake on the ever growing number of unexplained murders in the homeless sector and that was it. Peter's focus, though, kept going back to Camryn's death.

He hounded Mary Margaret, lead detective on Camryn's murder, about leads on the case, despite the fact Paul had forbidden Peter to be involved in the investigation. When she refused to share the details with him _'for his own good'_, he began offering her suggestions. Finally, she began to avoid him whenever possible.

So, Peter decided, since Skalany wasn't cooperating, he would begin his own investigation. There was something nagging at him about the only tidbit of information he was able to steal away from Skalany's desk when she wasn't looking. It was the sole witness's description of a man leaving the parking garage in the early morning hours the night of the murder.

Peter waited for the witness to return from a late shift at work. He lived in the same apartment complex as Peter. Peter's witness, Julio Mendez, was a short, stocky man from Puerto Rico. Though, he'd lived in the United States for most of his life, he had never really lost the heavy accent of his homeland.

Peter flashed his badge and Julio immediately started shaking his head. "No, I can't. I'm beat. Maybe tomorrow."

Then, he paused after he took a closer look at Peter. His demeanor shifted. He swallowed and gestured toward Peter. "It was your girlfriend who was killed."

Peter averted his gaze and nodded.

"Look, I really am sorry for your loss. I didn't intend to sound rude about this. I mean, I'm just as civic-minded as the next person, but I've been putting in a lot of overtime lately and I'm dead on my feet."

"This won't take long, Julio. I promise."

Julio nodded reluctantly.

Peter licked his lips. "Thanks, I really appreciate this."

He tried to sound professional, but his own lack of sleep and whirling emotions made it hard for him to maintain the facade.

"Tell me about the man you saw," Peter requested in a quiet tone.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Julio asked, prolonging the process of interrogation a little longer as he reached for his soft-sided pack of cigarettes and matches.

"No, go ahead," Peter replied, trying to keep his impatience to a minimum while his heart was screaming,_ Just answer the frigging questions, Julio! _

The Hispanic man lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply from the burning tobacco like it was his last breath. As he prepared to speak, he waved his hand holding the cigarette around, leaving a visual trail of his movement.

"That guy was creepy, Peter. It's okay to call you Peter, right?"

"Sure, living in the same building should give us first name status," Peter said, not giving a damn about what Julio wanted to call him. He stepped a little closer. "Creepy in what way?"

"He was normal looking enough, but I don't know."

Julio paused and gave his cigarette another long drag. Peter resisted the urge to pace and held his ground as Julio started talking again. "You know, you drive a city bus on graveyard shift long enough and you learn to spot trouble in a single glance."

"Something about this guy made you think he was trouble?" Peter asked, moving a little closer to Julio.

"Yes, but he was on his way out of the garage as I was driving in, so I didn't see him except for a few seconds. Maybe it was the way he jerked his face away from the headlights like he didn't want to be seen. I don't know. All I know was the man gave me a serious case of the creeps and I was glad he was leaving, so I wouldn't have to figure out what to do with him."

"Your description of him to the investigators was sparse to say the least. Do you think you would even be able to identify him if they had him in a line-up?"

"I know I couldn't give a lot of specifics to the cops, at the time, but I was pretty rattled. In thinking back, I would know that face anywhere. He sat tall in the car seat, so I'd say six-two to six-four. Dark, curly hair. A little on the pudgy side. Strong jaw line."

Peter relaxed slightly with the conviction of Julio's statement as he rattled off a clearer description of the mystery man, but Julio's next words caused his heart to leap up into his throat.

"You know, Peter, I didn't mention this to the other detective, because it just came to me. I swear I have seen that guy around here before."

Without conscious thought, Peter moved even closer, pointing down as he spoke. "Here? As inside this apartment building before?"

"Yeah, yeah. The more I think about it, I think I've seen him, but it's been a long time. The guy wasn't that old, but he looked a lot like a retarded kid that used to hang around here."

"R-retarded?" Somehow, Peter managed to stammer his question aloud through the rush of emotions cascading through his system.

"Yeah, he used to be around here on the weekends sometimes, but I haven't seen him here for a very long time. Years, even. And that poor lady who was killed. I know I've seen her around here, too. I sure am glad I wasn't the one to find her body."

Julio kept talking, but Peter couldn't hear his words anymore. Instead, he was numbed to the horrifying reality he now knew who the murderer was. That thought sickened and infuriated him at the same time, willing him to act on the new information, even though his limbs were slow to respond to command.

It was all Peter could think of as he mumbled a hurried thank you to Julio and left. He was unable to acknowledge Julio as he called out from his open doorway, "Peter, you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost, man."

Peter barely remembered the drive over to the Richard's apartment in the wee hours of the morning. Luckily, there was hardly any traffic on the streets as he barreled through red lights and stop signs with his siren blasting.

Peter recalled his last encounter with Richard, remembered how the man had screamed over and over he would kill him if he ever saw him again. Maybe, killing Camryn was the next best thing and putting her dead body where Peter would be the one to find her was the finishing touch to Richard's revenge.

Tightly gripping his steering wheel after switching the siren and lights off, Peter examined his best course of action. Best course – that would be calling in backup. It was the prudent thing to do. And waiting for that backup would be even better.

Of course, Peter had no intention of calling backup or even calling in his discovery. He was caught up in bringing Richard Petry to justice.

He sighed. There was Richie, the boy he had helped bring into adulthood, and then there was Richard, the man who had callously killed Camryn in revenge for Peter.

Bitter betrayal welled up inside Peter and obscured his mind to all logical thoughts except apprehending Richard. As Peter pulled up to Richard's apartment building, he glanced up and found to the apartment dark.

He pounded the steering wheel with the palm of one hand, and then pushed back in his seat angrily, trying to control the adrenaline coursing through his system. How stupid he had been not to think of Richard as a suspect earlier on!

He shook his head and took a deep breath. What was done was done. Now, it was a matter of finding Richard and locking his ass in a cell before he could kill anyone else.

Peter sighed. He decided he might be in for another long, sleepless night, then he realized Richard might already be in bed, asleep. He quickly got out of his car and started towards the entrance to Richard's apartment building.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richard slipped around the corner of the building and froze as he spotted a car door opening, thinking he might have found another appetizer to have before bed. The interior car light activated with the opening door and it cast the figure inside the car into stilted shadows.

Skulking back into the darker embrace of the building's walls, Richard watched his potential prey closely. He stopped when he recognized the car was Peter Caine's Stealth and his smile widened to a toothy grin.

He'd been trying to decide how to entrap his former friend, so he couldn't believe his good luck. Peter had just made things so much easier by getting out of his car and heading towards the apartment building at the right moment.

"Oh, Detective Peter, wishes really do come true, huh?" he whispered as he clung to the shadows and began to pace his latest prey.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter pried his eyes open, but they refused to focus for the longest time. His head was pounding as if he'd been kicked by an angry mule. His lower lip was split and swollen. There may have been other injuries, but those were the first ones he could detect without moving.

Someone was carrying on a lengthy conversation at the far end of the room. At last, he figured out it was Richard. The strange thing was, at times, it sounded like Richie, but most of the time, there was a whole litany of other voices coming from Richard's mouth.

Peter wanted to feel compassion for Richie again, but it wasn't going to happen. Not right then, even though the man was undeniably trapped in the merciless grip of madness. Richard rambled for long stretches, only to stop and argue with himself, using several voices that ranged from whispers to loudly shouted ranting.

Peter tested his bonds and found them frustratingly secure. Then, he understood why his shoulders and arms were throbbing with a tremendous ache. His bound wrists were rigged to a rope and hook in the ceiling, leaving him dangling while unconscious.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground and relieved some of the pressure from his overextended joints, but the only thing that was going to ease the pain in his arms was to be unhooked from the ceiling and Peter had a sinking feeling that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Peter focused on Richard again. He was shouting again in the far corner of the room, apparently still arguing with himself. Finally, unable to listen to Richie's ramblings any longer, Peter called out, "Hey, you wanna keep it down over there? I've got a hell of a headache and your conversation is driving me _nuts_!"

Peter's sarcastic comment drew Richard's immediate attention. He walked over, silently studying his handiwork, then leaned into Peter's face.

"You're in a bad way here, Detective Peter," he said, chuckling.

"No shit, Sherlock," Peter muttered.

He was rewarded with staggering backhand across his already battered lip.

"Capturing you was much easier than many of the homeless I have killed. You're not smart, Detective Peter," Richard said, as he shook in his head dramatically, "You're not smart at all. I snuck up behind you and I zapped you with my taser, then I put you into your own car and drove you here."

He showed Peter his taser, playing with the device as if it held some magical power over him before continuing. "I brought us to my special hideout. You didn't know I could drive, did you, Peter? Another indication of your substandard detective skills. I got the knowledge and ability from the people I killed. You'd be amazed at the variety of things I know how to do now – simply amazed, like some miracle from God."

"Not God..." Peter muttered through swollen lips. "Not God...to allow you to kill like this."

Richard's holy expression turned vicious and he punched Peter as hard as he could in the stomach, knocking the air from him.

Then, Richard's eyes glazed over, apparently still thinking about his suddenly acquired abilities. "Don't you know a miracle when you see it? And this is a miracle, perhaps the biggest miracle ever known. I am destined for greatness."

Peter would have told him he'd seen plenty of real miracles in his lifetime, but he wasn't able to speak right then. Richie went on without waiting for Peter to regain his breath.

Richard chuckled and continued, "So, I hung you up here and beat on you a bit, just to make you hurt all the more when you woke up. It was... _delicious_."

"Gee, thanks. All that for me?" Peter said finally with closed eyes as he realized just how stupid he had been in not phoning his location into the precinct.

Richie grabbed a handful of hair and jerked him close, ignoring the way the ropes cut into Peter's bound limbs or the injuries he'd just inflected on his prisoner.

"God, I want to kill you in the worst way," Richie rasped, practically drooling.

"So, what's holding you back, dirtbag? Surely, not a conflict of conscience. At the rate you've been killing, you must be popping at least two victims a day."

_"Don't tell him!"_ a hoarsely whispered voice sounding nothing like Richard said, _"Make him sweat it out." _

"Be quiet! I'm having a conversation with an old friend here," Richard hissed at first, then drew out his words in a snide verbal slap. "A very old friend."

Peter grunted. "Seems you've got a full plate there as far as conversation goes. You don't need me around for that."

Another backhand silenced Peter for a bit, allowing Richard to settle into a rambling discourse. "No, I'm not going to kill you right away."

Peter spit away blood as it accumulated from a cut inside his mouth while listening to Richie's madness, wondering how the hell he was going to get himself out of his current predicament.

"You see I'm gonna use you as my human punching bag for a while. Hope you don't mind, Peter, but it's been suggested as a way of making me feeling better – a whole lot better over a lifetime of being pitied. And all I have to do is take out those frustrations out on you, old friend."

"You... don't need to go... to all that trouble on my account." Peter's sarcasm hardened as he stared at Richard and whispered hoarsely, using as much bitterness as he could, "Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?"

He accepted the fact Richard was going to kill him. Why prolong the process, he decided as more areas of discomfort on his body began screaming for attention. Apparently, Richard had exacted a great deal of _satisfaction_ while Peter had been unconscious.

"Afraid I can't kill you just yet, good buddy. I had a blast last time and that was with you sleeping soundly through it. I honestly can't imagine how much fun I'd have while you are awake!"

"Was Camryn awake when you beat her to a pulp?" Peter asked through clenched teeth, his anger rising as he listened to Richard's masochistic rambling.

A truly evil smile crossed Richard's lips as he stood and walked to a nearby window, pushing back the blanket covering the pane and peeked out, drawing out the moment as long as possible.

"Unfortunately, the taser had a powerful effect on her, rendering her unconscious the entire time. Finally, I got tired of waiting for her to awaken, so I beat her just enough to cause you pain when you found her, then I just killed her. She never knew what hit her."

Peter strained against his bonds, fighting back revulsion at Richard's callous depiction of the events leading to Camryn's last moments. His only comfort came in the fact that she'd been unconscious the entire time.

Peter's head began to pound with a vengeance and he went limp, allowing the threatening darkness at the periphery of his vision to take over – only to be brought back abruptly with the splash of cold water against his face.

"I didn't say you could pass out on me! We've got more playtime in store for us right now."

Peter coughed, sputtering from the sudden shock. With his eyes still closed, he said, "When... you say _we_, is it _we_ as in you and me? Or _we_ as in that wild party going on inside your head?"

Richard's response came in the way of a swift blow to Peter's rib cage, knocking the air from his lungs.

"That's for a lifetime of pitiful goodwill from condescending snobs like you, Peter! Damn, that felt good!"

Moments later, Peter was wishing the forceful blow to his ribs had knocked him out because Richard started playing with his taser. This time, the device was set on its lowest possible setting.

Not enough to cause unconsciousness, but enough to aggravate Peter's injuries quite nicely. Richie seemed enthralled by the violent muscle spasms and jerking motions Peter's bound body made each time he applied it to Peter's skin – which he did repeatedly. He'd wait just long enough until Peter's body had almost recovered, then he'd zap him again and again.

"I can't believe I was just going to kill you and be done with it. Thank goodness, a voice from within, hell if I know which one, started saying _don't kill him_. I asked why. The answer was, _'That sonofabitch has looked down on you ever since you've known him. Make that sucker pay for every injustice you've ever known. Ya can't kill everyone responsible for treating you like shit over the years, but you can exact your pound of flesh from him. When it gets to be boring, then kill him.'_ So I agreed and here you are!"

"Wow... thanks for sharing," Peter forced out in a hoarse whisper before unconsciousness finally claimed him.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter groaned before completely coming out of his stupor. Apparently, Richie had continued with his beating long after he passed out, because now he ached in more places than he could count. He glanced around the room through squinted eyes, looking for his captor and was relieved to find the room empty.

Peter started drifting away again when his father's voice suddenly echoed in his thoughts, bringing him back to full consciousness in a flash.

"Peter?" his father repeated.

"F-father?"

Pure relief was evident in Peter's response and his heart swelled at hearing a familiar voice in the aftermath of what he had been through.

"Peter, have courage. We are on our way home. Where are you now?"

"I-I don't know."

Peter's hope dwindled with that realization. How could he tell his father how to find him if he had no clue as to his whereabouts himself?

"Do not worry, I will find you."

With that reassuring statement, Peter's hope returned. His father was a miracle worker. As a child, Peter used to imagine his father could find him while blindfolded in a raging snowstorm. If anyone could do a miracle right then, Peter thought, it was his father.

"Hurry, Father, I don't know how much time I have left."

"We are on our way, son. Hold on to that thought and be strong."

"I will," Peter answered with as much courage as he could muster. He hoped that would be enough.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

For some unknown reason, Peter had awakened to find himself dumped in a heap on the floor with his hands bound in front of him, but not attached to anything else. His feet were also tied tightly with rope. Apparently, Richard felt with Peter's numerous injuries, a little rope was enough of a deterrent to keep him docile, but then Richard had never really seen Peter's indomitable fighting spirit in action.

Speaking of which, Peter spied an abandoned piece of wood lying under the couch beside him. Though his hands were tied together, he had managed to stretch far enough to get a hold on the wood and pull it to him.

"Peter? Oh, Peter? It's time for more fun," Richard called as he came in some time later, energized and ready for another round.

Peter wondered grimly how many people died this time to make Richard so enthusiastic.

_Yeah, Richard, it's time for more fun... but this time, it'll be my kind of fun,_ Peter thought as his grip on the two-by-four he'd found tightened.

He shielded the weapon from Richard's view with his body as much as possible and remained still as Richard approached him. Richard stopped to grab a glass of water to throw on Peter, apparently to awaken Peter, if he wasn't already awake.

Peter didn't react, stilling every movement, even his breathing. It was better for Richard to think Peter was still out of it until the last minute.

When Richard knelt down beside him, Peter spun around, rolling towards him with the foot long length of board in his hands, using all the strength and power he could muster. Peter lashed out at Richard's head. Richard fell back quickly, but the board still glanced off one temple, temporarily stunning the younger man.

While Richard was shaking off the blow, Peter dropped the board and scrambled towards him, his long fingers searching Richard's pockets for the taser, knowing he had to incapacitate Richard quickly or his efforts were for naught.

Peter's fingers had the device in his hand when a staggering blow to his head stopped him cold. His last glimpse was of Richard holding the two-by-four, then everything went black.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter was still unconscious, but the myriad of voices in Richard's head had gone into hyperdrive. Shaking off the pain in his battered temple, which only added to his perpetual headache, Richard staggered to his feet, throwing the two-by-four angrily into a corner and plopped down on the couch.

All Richard wanted to do was close his eyes and rest, but the voices had other plans_. _

_"Kill him! He's a cop! Kill him and be done with it!_"

_"No, he's a good man! You can't kill him!" _

_"Richie, please don't do this any more. Remember all of the kindness Peter's ever shown you. How can you do this to him? Release him now." _

_"You release him and we're all dead! Kill him and be done with it!" _

_"No! This is much too fun to stop now. We should have thought of something like this a long time ago." _

Richard sighed when the discussion carried on much longer than he had the strength for and he slumped onto the threadbare seat cushion of the sofa, unable to do anything else but close his eyes and drift towards welcoming darkness.

A thought came to him right before he dropped off that clutched at his dark heart in a way little else had done since the death of his mother.

Whispering in a childlike tone, the small words echoed over and over until unconsciousness claimed him.

_"What happens to Richie when there's too many other people living in here?" _

Hours later, Richard awoke to find Peter still unconscious. Not willing to broker any further rebellion from his captive, he dangled Peter from the ceiling hook again, then swung him back and forth like a pendulum, waiting for his prey to come back to life.

After pacing the small room for what seemed like hours, Richard noticed Peter was finally starting to awaken. He pounced on Peter, grabbing Peter's blood-splattered shift and he roughly jerked him closer.

"It's about time, Caine!" Richard shouted, spewing spittle. "You know, I've been called a fool all my life. Didn't help that I was born on April Fool's Day... well, this April's Fool has become an April's Genius! My time is coming and you – you are in my past!"

Richard released Peter's clothing suddenly, only to send him swinging again. Peter didn't cried out with the abrupt jostling, but his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he bit his lip so hard, it bled. When he had recovered a bit, he whispered tired words, "Richie, we are what we are... to try and change that – "

Peter's words were like throwing a flame on gasoline. "NO! I am what I _want_ to be! And I'm Richard! Remember that! Don't waste your time trying to reason with me, Peter! I'm waaaay beyond your intellect now!"

Richard stormed away to pace the small room again like an enraged tiger prowling a cage that was too small. On a distant level, Richard understood he was becoming an entirely different person as he grew smarter.

Suddenly, Richard stopped and put both hands to his head, screaming in agony before dropping to his knees. His pounding headache had abruptly blossomed into something much greater. With weary eyes, he met Peter's gaze.

Peter's face was etched with pain himself, pale and tired, bruised and bloodied; yet there was an alertness in Peter's hazel eyes which Richard remembered from his very first meeting with Peter.

As Richard stared at him, Peter spoke again. "You may be who you want to be, but it's killing you, Richie. Your seizures are worsening, aren't they? Even in the short time I've been with you, I can see that. Then, there's the headaches, the voices in your mind... tell me, is it all worth it?"

Richard didn't respond, only continued to stare at Peter, a man he had once wanted to emulate. As Peter spoke, Richard found his usually suppressed guilt over his numerous crimes had worked loose and was gaining strength.

"You don't understand, Peter," Richard began, both to quiet his guilt and to accommodate his sudden compulsion he had to make Peter understand. "If I don't continue to acquire knowledge, then it starts to leave me. When it's gone, then I'll be plain old Richie Petry again."

"What's wrong with that, Richie? That's the person everyone knows and loves – "

Richard cut him off with a vicious backhand to the head. Then Richard beat on his own chest. "Damn it, it's Richard! How many times do I have to tell you!"

Richard took a deep breath, but his words were still shouted, "I don't love Richie! I _never_ loved him. He was a doormat for everyone to use whenever they saw fit. Now, the world has become my personal doormat for me to use whenever I see fit. And I _love_ the thought of that! Love it!"

A moment later, Richard brought his fists to his temples and screamed. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before the pain eased off and he was able to straighten again.

"If only you could understand, Peter," Richard whispered.

"I'm trying, but you need to let me go," Peter implored.

Richard hunched over again and began to hum in a higher pitched female voice,

_"'Welcome to the Hotel California.  
>Such a lovely place. Such a lovely face.<br>They live it up at the Hotel California  
>What a nice surprise, bring your alibis<br>Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne  
>And she said "We are all just prisoners here of our own device"<br>And in the master's chamber.  
>They gather for the feast<br>They stab it with their steely knives  
>But they just can't kill the beast<br>Last thing I remember  
>I was running for the door<br>I had to find the passage back to the place I was before  
>Relax, said the night man, we are programmed to receive<br>You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave...'"_

When done, Richard glanced over at Peter. There was a horrified expression on his prisoner's face, one which rapidly changed to rage.

"What, Petey? You don't like for me to sing in Camryn's voice? You used to love to have her sing for you."

Peter struggled against his bonds, his feet moving in futile motion, for there was no way he was going anywhere.

Before Richard could respond with any more taunts, Richard dropped to the floor, his body twitching violently in the throes of a severe epileptic seizure.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter watched Richard's seizure as a distant spectator, unable to feel anything beyond a smoldering fury. Unfortunately, he was too tired and in too much pain to invest more effort than that.

With the front door locked and him hanging from the ceiling, Peter could do nothing but close his eyes and comfort his aching spirit by mentally going to his safe haven, his secret place, the place he went to whenever he needed to escape.

Right then, Peter needed to escape the way most men needed to breathe, but the practicality of his situation made him realize that when he returned from his secret place, his situation would still be the same, except that he might have a few new injuries lining his battered body.

Hoping against hope, he prayed his father would make it back soon. If he didn't, Peter suspected he wouldn't have a son still living to save.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richard awoke to a blinding headache and an ache from lying on the hard floor for too long. As he slowly began to move, he noticed Peter had slipped into unconsciousness while upright, hanging from his bonds.

There was an inescapable reality for Richard as he awkwardly got to his feet. If he didn't stop what he was doing, he'd die. His own practices were literally killing him. Yet, he was unable to stop.

Richard Petry was addicted body and soul to the awesome rush of additional intelligence. And he was willing to do anything and everything to maintain it. Or better yet, to continue adding to it. Even if it meant killing anyone else who happened to be handy to feed his need.

Sitting down heavily in a rickety armchair, he took in Peter's appearance. His face and exposed skin were heavily bruised and bleeding. Who knew what was going on internally as far as injuries, though Richard really didn't care about that.

Only rage, cruelty and bitterness now rumbled in his ever-hungry spirit, contaminated by countless fragments of other peoples' personalities – roiling emotions that never seemed to be fully sated, no matter what he did to appease them.

Closing his eyes as his head pounded relentlessly, he tried to access more positive emotions within himself. Richard had been preying mostly on people without morals, preferring to choose those who seemed more deserving of death.

_"Richie?" _

Hearing his mother's voice seemed to settle Richard's inner turmoil, at least temporarily. From her presence, he gleaned his first inkling of true remorse for his deeds.

"Mom, do you hate me for what I've become?"

_"I could never hate you. You're my son, my Richie, but you're a stranger to me now. I don't understand why you're torturing poor Peter after everything that he's done for you." _

"It's _because_ of everything he's done for me that I have to do this."

_"No, that's a lie – something you've told yourself in order to justify releasing this vicious monster onto the world. You can fight it, Richie. You must fight it before more is lost." _

"No... no, I can't. Mostly, because I don't want to." Richard replied honestly.

_"And that will be what will kills you, son," _Dorina replied before going silent in his thoughts, leaving him more alone than he'd ever felt before.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter came to with Richard sitting in a chair before him, just watching him. "You know TV can be much more entertaining," Peter mumbled.

Richard grunted. "Are you _ever_ serious?"

"Only when it's necessary."

Peter's half-lidded eyes widened. There was something different about Richard's demeanor. "What's going on, Richie?"

Richard sighed with deep fatigue. "Camryn won't let me kill you."

A faint smile crossed Peter's lips, "She was probably one of the most stubborn women I've ever dated."

"Yes, stubborn is right," Richard said quietly and put his hands over his eyes.

Sensing a change in Richard's attitude, Peter decided to go for broke. "Richie, let me go. We can get you the help you need."

"Help me? Why would I want any help? Besides, Peter, it's too late. I remember this bit of dialog from some play. _'None of us can help the things life has done to us. They're done before you realize it and once they're done, they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you'd like to be and you've lost your true self forever.'" _

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I began to lose my true self with that first accident, and everything else has been a blur since then.. but it doesn't matter how or why. I like these changes. I like being smart!"

"But at what cost, Richie? These seizures – they're killing you," Peter argued, but sensed that he was losing Richard to the madness again.

"No pain, no gain."

Peter's compassion ended with Richard's flippant remark. "Well, if you don't care about yourself, think about your victims. You're killing innocents!"

Richard reacted to Peter's words, clenching his fists tightly. "They were _not_ innocents! Trust me, I've got enough of their twisted thoughts in my head, intertwined with their stolen intelligence. They haunt me, Peter! They haunt me constantly! _They were not innocents_! You hear me, they weren't!"

**oOoOoOoOo**

The telephone rang on Captain Paul Blasidell's desk and he snatched it up before the first ring was completed. "Blaisdell," he said curtly.

Crumpling the piece of paper he had been writing on into a tight wad, he lobbed it into the nearby wastepaper basket and frowned. "Look, write it up in a memo and send it to me. I'm trying to keep this line clear at the moment."

Shaking his head as if the party on the other end of the phone could see him, he answered grimly. "No, no word yet."

He sighed as the person kept on talking. "Thanks, we appreciate it. Goodbye."

Paul rubbed his tired forehead in frustration before yawning. He grabbed his coffee mug and headed out for a refill, then he'd find Strenlich for an update. Somebody, somewhere, had to have seen Peter and they were going to find that person or else.

First, Camryn's murder and now this... Annie was almost beside herself with worry, knowing Peter would never disappear like this without being forced to, especially when Camryn's funeral had come and went without a word from him. That was the final straw, because it was so unlike Peter. Paul had to find their son and bring him home safely.

The alternative was much too painful to consider, even though they'd been searching for him for days. The longer things went on, the grimmer it looked that they would never find him.

Paul poured himself some coffee, but stopped when he sensed a presence beside him. Turning rapidly, he was startled to find Kwai Chang Caine at his side, patiently waiting for his attention.

Paul was shocked, but after a moment, he realized he had no reason to be surprised. Peter was missing, Caine was here – there was a certain symmetry to it. Although, the troubled expression on Caine's face caused the acid in Paul's stomach to churn. Peter must be in far worse trouble than he had first imagined.

"Caine, do you know where he is?" Paul asked, bypassing the less important chitchat getting right to the only topic either man was interested in.

The pained disappointment in Caine's eyes said it all and Paul's shoulders slumped slightly. With Caine's appearance, he'd felt a rush of hope they'd be able to get to Peter quickly. After viewing the same look Paul knew had to be evident in his own eyes, he prepared himself for the likelihood they'd have to find Peter the old-fashioned way and he prayed it would be soon enough to matter.

"Come on into my office and we can talk," Paul said softly.

Caine nodded and followed. Paul stepped aside for Caine to enter and saw Lo Si at Kwai Chang's heels for the first time.

Lo Si smiled his wizened grin, though it was tempered this time with worry and fatigue. Paul knew the two men had been on a trip. After examining their appearances a little closer, he saw they'd been traveling fast and hard, meaning there was an urgent need for them to return.

That thought made Paul's stomach churn a little more as he closed the door and went to his desk.

"What do you know?" he asked.

Caine shrugged slightly before speaking. "Peter does not know where he is. An old building, perhaps abandoned, but the windows in the room where he is being held are covered with blankets and sheets. He did say the sounds from the street seem quieted as if he is elevated above the normal street sounds."

"A high-rise?" Paul asked and received a nod in reply. "What else?"

Caine swallowed bleakly before continuing, "There is not much else. Other than the identity of the man holding him prisoner."

Paul raised his head in an unspoken question.

Caine said quietly, "It is Richard Petry."

With the mention of Richard's name, Paul's temper exploded like a fireball. "Richard? Damn! I should have figured out something like that on my own!"

He paced for a moment before opening the door to the bullpen. He stepped out and shouted, "Frank!"

Strenlich appeared almost instantly.

Paul gave him a few quickly uttered orders and then turned back to Caine, closing the door as he asked. "How is he?"

Tears welled up in Caine's hazel eyes and Lo Si placed a steadying hand on Kwai Chang's shoulder. It was a simple gesture of kindness which caused Paul's mouth to go dry with its unspoken implications.

"Our son is in great pain... and grave danger. Richard plans to torture Peter until – until he kills him."

The statement shouldn't have come as a surprise to Paul, given Peter's precarious situation, but it still made his breath catch in his chest. "Well, how is he right now? Does he have enough time left for us to find him?"

Caine studied the floor for a long moment before raising his penetrating gaze to Paul. "I do not know."

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Chapter 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The sun was just breaking through the early morning cloud cover when Richard moved Peter's car to the back of a used car lot several blocks away, nervous that it was still too close to their location if discovered where he had previously left it.

After he parked the car, he had another exhausting seizure – further evidence of his declining condition. When he recovered from its incapacitating grip, he felt his thoughts were slower and he became frightened he was losing some of his accumulated knowledge. It was a constant fear of his. So, he looked about for a quick fix.

The only person he saw out in those early morning hours was an elderly nun slowly limping by using a cane. After only the briefest of hesitations, in which he overturned every facet of his Catholic upbringing, he went after her.

"Excuse me," Richard said innocently, jogging up to her side in a relaxed, easygoing manner designed to put his victim at ease. "I'm not from this area and I'm afraid... well, I hate to admit it, but I'm lost."

The kindly woman smiled at his feigned lie of embarrassment. "That is nothing to be embarrassed about, young man. We are all lost until shown the way. Where exactly are you going?"

Richard cringed and put a fist to his forehead, fighting against a sudden headache. "Son, are you okay?" The older woman asked out of concern, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Yeah, yeah, I am. I have a doctor's appointment this morning about these migraines, but first I have to stop at this address," he said with a shaky voice as the headache finally started to pass. "It's okay now... it's passing. Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize over. Perhaps, you should sit down. Your coloring is not good at all."

"No, no, I'm okay, really," Richard said with more confidence than he felt. He needed another shot of knowledge and he needed it fast.

"Well, if you say so... do you know the address of the place you are looking for?"

Richard patted his pockets like he was looking for an address, then sighed, "Oh, I left the address in the car. Where's my head this morning? Say, I've got a map in the car, too. Maybe you could help me find it on the map, then I promise I'll leave you alone. Sorry to be such a pain."

"It is no trouble at all. You are lucky that I was going to check on my brother so early this morning or you'd be alone in your search. Not many folks out and about at this hour in this area."

"I really, really appreciate it. Thank you so much."

Richard continued the ingratiating facade as they approached Peter's car. He made sly glances while they walked, checking the immediate vicinity for other people and was pleased to find none.

Richard opened the car door and pretended to reach for the map, but instead with his other hand, he pulled out the taser. He stood, spinning around quickly and stunned the older woman before she had a chance to react at all.

Catching her as she fell, he sat down on the car seat with his legs apart and the fallen nun between them, leaving her to lean against his legs in an upright position. He rapidly moved his fingers around to her neck and began to squeeze hard, cutting off the nun's oxygen supply.

Something within him told him when death was imminent and he moved one hand to pick up the taser again, activating it in order to increase the amount of information transferred through his link to the victim.

As his own muscles reacted to the biting sting of electricity coursing through his system, he felt the awesome bliss of knowledge flowing into his mind and he relished in that euphoria for long moments after the process was completed. Then his increased awareness told him he'd better put some distance between the victim, Peter's car, and himself, so he hurried to slip away unnoticed.

Unfortunately, that last murderous act backfired on Richard, because as he made good his escape, he was filled with even more guilt and remorse than his increased awareness could rationalize away. And he fumed about it all the way back to Peter's location.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter slowly returned to consciousness and sighed in relief to discover he was alone, but that feeling rapidly disappeared as Richard's footsteps pounded down the hall. Peter glanced up with swollen eyelids and made an instant decision as Richard stormed into the room, red-faced with anger and frustration.

Taking the offensive as Richard strode up to him, his eyes glued on Peter's mid-section, eager to use him as a punching bag again, Peter leapt upward, wrapping his hands around the rope. He swung back to gain momentum, then forward.

As he swung forward, he wrapped his legs around Richard's neck, using the added height to lift his rope ties off the hook. Then he jerked hard with his legs, throwing off Richard's equilibrium. As they were falling, Peter shifted again, releasing his hold on Richard and rolled away, employing every bit of his famed athletic prowess to wind up on his feet.

Stunned by the sudden attack, Richard careened headfirst into a pile of junk, falling to the side a few feet from Peter. The detective reached into the junkpile and pulled out a thick, rusty metal pipe, about three feet long, holding it tightly with both hands.

Richard grunted with his impact and stumbled to his feet, wiping a hand to clear blood away from a gash above one eye. He took a few steps toward Peter, before reacting to the potentially lethal weapon in Peter's hands.

"Bravo, Detective Peter," Richard exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "You've got murder glinting in those dark eyes of yours. What makes you so different from me? You saw that I was in a murderous rage and, boom, you flew into action like a seasoned pro. Caught me off-guard... even bloodied my face."

Peter warily watched Richard and knew he didn't have much time. He had to incapacitate Richard quickly or Richard's bigger, stronger, healthier status would overwhelm. His father's teachings filled his thoughts. _'When dealing with a larger opponent, use his own strength against him.' _

Richard was still talking and Peter squinted to listen as he planned his moves.

"I have the satisfaction of first blood, though. And second, and third... well, you were there, you remember, don't you?" Richie chuckled.

"Oh, yeah, Richard. I remember everything."

He took a menacing step forward, lifting the pipe a little higher for a stronger swinging range.

"I could just wait you out, Peter. I doubt you could last thirty minutes on your feet. You've taken quite a beating during your visit with me. No food. No water."

"You afraid, Richard?" Peter asked with a low husky voice. "Why are you backing up?" He figured he was within swinging distance when Richard pulled his own length of pipe from another pile. Now, there was a renewed glow of anticipation in his eyes.

"For this!" He laughed. "I know your father is heavy into Kung Fu. So was Cory Nichols and he was pretty good with the staff. Let's see just how good you are."

Richard slowly made a wide arc around Peter as the two men sized each other up. Peter didn't have to wait too long before Richard expertly lunged with the pipe. Peter parried the move easily, then swung upward, clipping Richard in the ribs.

Richard grunted aloud and backed up a few paces, his eyes narrowed in hatred and anger.

"What's the matter, Richard? Can't take what you dish out?" Peter taunted, knowing Richard couldn't handle the slightest comments against his abilities. Richard rushed him right away and Peter batted him with his pipe after moving aside at the last moment, dinging Richie on a crucial elbow nerve bundle.

Peter allowed himself a slight smile as he saw Richard release the hold of his pipe with one of his hands and let the limb dangle for a moment, then clenched and unclenched the hand, working feeling back into it.

"You won't be smiling, Caine, when I'm done with you," Richard whispered.

All humor had left the big man's face and Peter knew he was definitely in a life-and-death battle.

"Stop yakking and let's get to it," Peter whispered back in equal measure and the final battle began.

Peter held his own for a long while, tagging Richard time after time, but as Richard predicted, Peter was in a weakened and injured state and it rapidly caught up to him.

All it took was one sure blow to Peter's already battered ribs and the detective went down hard. The rest was history as Richard walked up and kicked the prone detective in the ribs. Then, he paused and kicked him again, kneeling down to roughly pull Peter's face close to his, completely ignoring Peter's bonds and injuries.

"There! Teaches you to try and pit yourself against a man with the life experience of dozens! With your little stunt, you made me forget why I was so angry with you."

Peter looked at Richard with squinted eyes, unable to breathe and sick to death of the new Richard Petry.

In a moment of defiance, he spit into Richard's face and prepared for the aftermath. Strangely, all Richard did was to wipe away the bloody spittle with the back of one hand, then spoke, "If I could have made it home in time to kill you and take your intellect, as feeble as it is, I would have done so, but I couldn't. Because of you, I killed a nun instead."

He tightened a hand around Peter's neck as he went on, his anger flaring again as he went. "A nun! Damn it! And now – now, she's inside my head, along with Mother! Damn it to hell, I'm fighting a blasted war inside my skull! And it's all your fault, Peter Caine!"

Releasing Peter's throat, he raised a trembling fist, then battered Peter's already bruised and bloodied face before releasing him. Peter dropped to the ground, aggravating almost all of his injuries.

"If I wasn't out covering _your_ tracks, moving _your_ car, then I would have been here to use _you_ when I needed to, instead of _her_! Damn, damn, damn!"

Richard stood, looking down at Peter with a mixture of hate and disdain as the detective finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter wasn't sure how long he had been out, but he was finally able to small breaths without fireworks going off in his chest with each inhalation. He was on the floor still, huddled into a fetal position, probably his last protective act done before passing out.

He looked around and was surprised to see Richard standing by the bedroom window with the blanket pulled aside, staring out at the drizzling rain, apparently lost in thought.

Peter was trying to devise a way to escape or overcome Petry when the younger man turned toward him with tears in his eyes. Shock replaced the more imminent need to get away. There was such pain and remorse in an expression very reminiscent of the old Richie. It was a fleeting, solitary glimpse at the old Richie, yet it was tempered with the burden of a much grimmer world in which Richard had created for himself.

"I killed a nun, Peter," Richard said softly.

Peter didn't say anything, only nodded as he remembered Richard's admonition prior to beating the crap out of him. Peter's rage at his pain, rage at Richard's murdering ways, and rage at being bound and helpless to do anything about it made him forget the budding compassion he'd felt at seeing his old friend in such turmoil.

Peter went to speak, but his voice was much weaker and hoarser than he wanted it to sound. He coughed, which flared his injuries into life, but still spoke regardless of his infirmities.

"Along with her wisdom... this poor nun... must have also... given you a bit of a conscience, too, huh? How does it feel to have one again after murdering countless times without guilt?" Peter whispered bitterly, his voice raw with pain.

He knew he'd pay for his words, but right then, he didn't care. Too many people had already died for him to remain silent. Richard's momentary swell of guilt instantaneously transformed into an ugly beast, going from angelic to demonic in the blink of an eye.

Flying into a blind rage, Richard's vicious kick coming and curled into a ball trying to protect those damaged ribs, but ultimately was unable to do much to prevent it, bound with rope as he was.

He braced himself for the impact, but it was still a crushing blow. He felt a rib go as he gagged, trying to breathe, but knowing it was pointless. Nothing was going in or out, nor would it for several moments to come.

"How's that for a conscience, Caine, huh? How's that?"

Peter didn't try to answer him, for he knew speech was beyond him right then. Remaining conscious was very much in question, too. He was paralyzed with pain like he'd never known before. As he lay there, he was surprised to hear Richard admit aloud, "DAMN! Why doesn't that make me feel better anymore!"

Richard paced the confined room, his anger working his body into a frantic frenzy. "No, I am doing this because I _want_ to do it! Because it pleases me to do so. I've been stupid and ignorant all my life! Now, I _want_ to grow smarter. I like it! And I will continue to do whatever I need to maintain this level of intelligence which I've been denied all my life!"

Richard suddenly doubled over, then his muscles went into convulsions and Richard fell unconscious, leaving Peter to wonder what would happen to him if Richard died from a stroke or similar malady. Who would find them then?

Peter spent the next several minutes trying to loosen his rope bonds, still desperate to escape, but before he could, Peter watched dispassionately as Richard finally revived. Richard slowly got to his feet and spoke, though there was a definite shakiness in his voice.

"Detective Peter? What have I done to you? I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you... you're my friend. What's ha-happening to me?" he said with his hands pressed to his temples.

"Richie?" Peter asked, swallowing back his pain.

"I can't stop them from doing the bad things, from hurting people like you. They even hurt my own Mom. What's going to happen to me without her? What?" he screamed in a fearful panic.

"You'll survive. You don't have to do it alone, Richie. We just need some help right now. Can you call 9-1-1 on my cell phone?"

Peter hoped to manipulate Richie's more pliable personality into helping him before he disappeared into the steady stream of other, more aggressive personalities.

Richie put his hands to his head and moaned. When he spoke again, the evil Richard persona was back in control. "Don't you get it? The _entire world_ owes me a life and I plan to make up for that debt by taking what I want when I want! And I believe I will start by romancing your partner, Detective Jody Powell! In fact, it's time for you to call her and ask her to come over here."

"I... sure as hell... will... not!" Peter declared defiantly, his hoarse words echoing in the shabby room while curled up as tightly as his bonds would allow, waiting for his pain to dissipate.

"Sure, you will, Peter. At least, you will because I'll be doing it for you. You see, you came to this location and just collapsed. I need her help to figure out what's wrong with you. Good thing today's her first day back on the job after her vacation. I was really starting to miss her."

"You... bastard!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pure emotion with no intellectual content whatsoever in your response, Peter. I fear absorbing your intelligence will be a major disappointment to me. Ah, well, I know Jody Powell will not disappoint me like you have. In fact, I can pretty well guarantee that she will love me, one way or another.

"Either she will fall for my charming ways, or she will do what I want because I have you as my prisoner... Of course, that's _before_ I will be forced to kill both her and you. What do you think about that, Detective Peter?"

"I'm... wondering," Peter spat out his words slowly, but with more venom than he thought humanly possible.

His hazel eyes locked onto Richard's leering expression. Blood dripped past swollen lips, but Peter was now oblivious to his own pain with the multiple threats Richard made against his partner and friend.

"I'm wondering... how fate could have been... so fucking wrong when it took Victor and left you here to kill. Victor must be rolling over in his grave. If I weren't bound... "

"YOU LEAVE VICTOR OUT OF THIS!" Richard shouted, spewing spittle in his violent reaction. He took a couple deep breaths before continuing, "Stupid, stupid man! You are _bound_, Peter, and quite effectively too. Hmm, sometimes I wonder how you ever made detective-grade with your meager powers of deduction. Perhaps, having Blaisdell as a father did have some major advantages after all."

Peter closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, at least as much as his damaged ribs could allow, trying to ignore Richard's taunts. Instead, he channeled his anger into the closest thing he could manage in the form of a healing trance.

Buying into Richard's madness would only spur him on and ultimately served no useful purpose.

"So, Detective Peter, this conversation has just become moot. And you are boring me. I've got to go get things ready for Detective Jody's arrival. Everything must be perfect for her. And I definitely don't want to keep her waiting for her night of romance."

Richard's threats toward Jody broke through Peter's healing trance and Peter was moving to attack him before remembering he was still bound and injured. His abrupt motion nearly rendered himself unconscious. Richard's next blow to his ribs finished the process.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Jody came into work and put away her purse. She'd heard that the troops were out searching for Peter since he hadn't showed up for work the past few days. Strenlich had promised her a private briefing on the situation, then he'd been called away to the phone.

It seemed like just about everyone normally in the bullpen was either on the phone or gone. Nothing like a missing cop to put everyone out on the streets.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it. "Powell."

Richie's frightened voice came over the telephone line, then he sounded so different than any previous conversation she'd ever had with him.

"Detective Jody, it's – it's Richie. S-Something's wrong with Detective Peter."

She could tell he was scared by the stuttering tone of his voice, but there was something _different _about him. However, when he mentioned Peter, all other thoughts became unimportant.

"Why? What do you mean, Richie?" Jody asked, concern giving her voice a hard edge. She'd been gone for the past five days, visiting relatives and helping her favorite grandmother celebrate her eightieth birthday.

"He wanted me to meet him here in this abandoned building, but when I got here, he collapsed. Jody, he's really messed up. Someone beat him up pretty bad."

"Richie, hang up and call 9-1-1. Do it now."

There was no room for compromise in her tone.

"I can't... Detective Peter made me promise not to. Something about it can't be reported to the department yet."

Jody's heart leapt into her throat with his next statement as Richie's voice took on a whispery, scared little boy tone, as if he was afraid what he was reporting was going to get him into serious trouble.

"Um, he really doesn't look very good, like he's in pain. I-I don't know how to help him. I'm scared, Detective Jody."

"Where are you calling from?" Jody asked, softening her tone after she heard the pronounced fear on the other end of the line.

"Peter's cell phone. He's right beside me and said if you promised not to tell _anyone_ where we are, I could call you and you would keep your promise. W-Will you do that for him, Detective Jody?"

Jody closed her eyes as she considered the magnitude of the requested promise, knowing Peter wouldn't ask that kind of thing lightly. "Will you keep your promise to Detective Peter? Otherwise, he said I can't tell you where we are."

Jody's heart pounded with a contagious form of fear transferred over the phone line from Richie. There was a prolonged silence as Jody fought against all the things she knew she should do, then she abandoned the 'should do's' in favor of the 'have to do's' and gave in.

"I promise, Richie, I won't tell anyone. Where are you?"

He gave her the address and hung up. Jody looked around for someone to talk to, but there wasn't a soul who wasn't on the phone or busy. Pacing a bit, she bent down to her desk and wrote a note about her phone call and the address Richie had given her, thinking the note would be her backup.

She grabbed her jacket and purse and took off running. She pushed her way past a file clerk as she headed out the door, not pausing to notice that the woman was dropping off a large stack of case files on her desk... right on top of her note.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richard thought his performance on the phone with Powell was eerily perfect, especially considering that less than two weeks before, he'd never considered lying, let alone plotting harm and murder so casually. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he stared down at Peter's still body.

After Peter's little adventures had resulted in a few personal injuries, Richard decided he had been allowing too much mobility, even for an injured man. He now had Peter bound with his arms extended before him as he lay unmoving on his stomach. The rope bindings, which Richard had intentionally tied too tight, were cutting into Peter's wrists, staining the white rope into a macabre blend of deep red, brown and even black.

Imagining the level of pain Peter had to be going through when conscious made his chilling grin widen even more, before it disappeared from Richard's face in a startled twitch.

"NO!" Richie screamed as thoughts of guilt and remorse flooded his mind.

A trio of female voices, now irritatingly predominant, rang out in his head, admonishing him for his various atrocities. Dorina, Camryn and the nun were determined to stop him from abusing Peter any longer.

Covering his ears, he paced the room, shouting to mask their voices. "I DO WHAT I WANT TO DO! I WILL NOT LISTEN TO ANYTHING ELSE BESIDE WHAT I WANT TO DO!"

Stopping abruptly, Richard looked around the silent room, pulling his hands away from his ears, then smiled in sweet relief. Miraculously, the voices had stopped. But it was only a momentary lull, because they began again in full force as if they'd never stopped.

"No, no, no! I will _not_ listen to you. You better stop or I'll do something and it will be _all_ your fault!" he threatened in a frantic shout. They didn't heed his warning and he began pacing again. "Stop it or else!"

Slapping his hands over his ears again, his reddened face scrunched into an expression of pure fury. Looking downward, all he could do was stare at Peter's prone body, prostrated before him. Taunting him, even in unconsciousness, like those teenagers had done back at the precinct right before his magical transformation. Just like those female voices screaming in his head right then.

Richard paused in front of Peter's unconscious body as the voices in his head continued driving him mad as was the slight twitching movement of Peter's arms.

Richard raised one foot as he exclaimed, "Okay, okay, I warned you! I _told_ you to be quiet and you wouldn't! So, now you'll really, really be sorry!"

He stomped down on Peter's right forearm with all of his weight, the sickening crack of broken bone echoing in the empty room. Peter groaned on some subconscious level of acknowledgment of deep pain, but never came close to reviving.

Richie didn't wait around in the room to hear any more reproaches from the voices in his head. He had to put the final touches on the arrangements he had made for Jody's visit.

"Soon, Jody will be mine in a way she'd never imagined. I will make her love me. And if she won't... well, by the time I'm done, she'll be begging for my touch! One way or another, I will have her."

**oOoOoOoOo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The abandoned building seemed dark and foreboding as Jody entered the first floor. Richie had told her to enter through the front door where the nailed boards had been loosened enough for a person to squeeze through, and then shout for him. The plan was for him to run down to meet her.

Apprehensive, Jody called Ritchie's name and waited, but there was no response. Cursing softly under her breath, she pulled a small pen light from her purse, along with her weapon, to survey the area.

She moved deeper into the entryway as she shouted as loud as she could, "Richie? Can you hear me? Richie?"

It didn't look as if anyone had been in the rear of the first floor in years, so Jody started to turn in the direction of the staircase. She decided to go upstairs when her small flashlight revealed the presence of someone standing off to her side.

She gasped and jumped backwards, nearly losing her balance before Richie's outstretched arm caught her and kept her from falling.

"God, Richie!" she exclaimed with more than a little anger in her tone. "I could have shot you!"

"No, Jody, I know you. You could never hurt me."

Jody brought a hand to her chest to quiet her beating heart. She searched Richie's expression. There was something about the way Richie was looking at her, something hungry... almost needy and it set her nerves on edge.

She'd heard that Richie's intelligence had been dramatically improved in the same brief summary Strenlich had told her before he was called away to the phone. Apparently, the miracle was a result of his electrical accidents, but she wasn't prepared for the level of alteration of Richie's character.

"Where's Peter?" she asked breathlessly, following his eyes when his expression flitted upward. "How is he now? And what exactly is wrong with him?"

"I'll show you where he is and you can see for yourself," he said quietly as he took Jody by the elbow and led her towards the stairs.

Tactfully, Jody slipped out of his hold and motioned for him to lead the way, waiting for him to start up the stairs ahead of her. Silently, she wished she'd disobeyed Peter's request and just dragged Kermit or someone else along with her as backup, instead of leaving a stupid note on her desk, then again, everyone had been busy at the time. It was all right. She'd take care of Peter.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After climbing two sets of stairs and walking down a long, musty-smelling hallway, Richie pointed to an open door where Jody would find Peter. She instantly recognized Peter on the couch and rushed through the doorway to her partner, who lay very still, his back facing her.

A sudden wave of concern overcame her and she forgot all about Richie. Only Peter mattered in that brief flash of time.

When she reached him, she could tell by the way he was wheezing that something was seriously wrong with him. Reaching forward, she gently turned him towards her, only to be horrified by what she saw.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she viewed his damaged body, dropping her weapon onto the cushion of the sofa directly in front of her. Automatically, she reached to push his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead where it was thick and sticky from a bloody gash along his hairline.

In the dim light filtering through gaps in the windows covered with blankets and sheets, she could see that Peter had been brutally beaten. Laying on his left side and curled as much as possible into a fetal position, she viewed his bruised and battered state, which included bleeding from several sites. Then her gaze settled on his right forearm looming before her, so grossly swollen and misshapen, she visibly cringed at its appearance.

"Oh, Peter, who did this to you?" she murmured to the unconscious man.

A cold rage tore through her as her gaze locked onto the torturously tight ropes cutting into Peter's bloodied wrists. It was in that moment that she realized the only person who could be responsible for Peter's current condition was Richie – otherwise, Richie would have done something to help Peter earlier, instead of just leaving him there to suffer.

Fury quickly changed to fear as she remembered the man responsible was still standing directly behind her, waiting patiently for her response to his handiwork.

She let her voice sound full of tears and wiped at her face like she was wiping away the tears. She carefully reached forward with the other hand to grab her gun as she cried out, "Peter? Oh my God, Peter?"

When Peter didn't respond to her cries, she asked in a shaky voice which was only partly feigned, "What-what happened to him?"

Before Richie had time to reply, Jody heard a change in Peter's breathing. No one said anything for a long moment as both realized Peter was awakening.

Suddenly, Jody suddenly prayed Peter would just stay unconscious. For when fully awake, he'd be in a whole world of hurt. Sure enough, Peter started moaning without realizing it.

With his increasing awareness, there was a reciprocal increase in pain recognition. His hands were trembling from the extent of his misery and he started rocking slightly, trying to ward off his skyrocketing pain levels.

Jody carefully reached down to take his left hand in hers as he blindly reached out for help, his right hand hanging limply from his side, unable to move due to its broken bones. With softly whispered words of comfort into his right ear, she brushed his hair back with her other hand.

"Oh, God!" Peter shouted when he shifted in response to the kindness and comfort he was receiving and his broken ribs rubbed against each other from his cramped position.

Pain drove the air from his lungs and he gasped without result at the lack of breath. His hands automatically moved towards his aching rib cage, but the rope bindings with only six inches of line between the hands limited his movements, creating a jerking motion when they stopped unexpectedly.

Unfortunately, the sudden movement of the broken bones in his right forearm sent him howling again. "Aaaaarrrrghhhh!"

His anguished scream tore through Jody's heart. She'd never heard him in that much pain and she'd had plenty of experience with him in that particular department with his reckless, headfirst method of law enforcement.

His eyes flew open, but Jody could see they weren't focusing on her. No, he was seeing imaginary villains and tormentors, ghosts of the past he thought responsible for his current pain. His breath came in short, pained gasps now as he struggled against his misery.

"J-Jody..?" he stammered as he tried to focus on her, leaning into her comforting caress as he recognized a friend, someone to help him through his current hell.

"Yes, Peter, I'm here. It's okay."

Her hand brushed his forehead and she cursed, realizing he was already in the throes of a feverish delirium.

Cautiously, Peter glanced up into Jody's eyes, looking deep within them for answers, then his grip on her hand became so tight, she was afraid he would break her fingers.

Fear for Jody overcame his pain and he managed to whisper, "Jody, he's gonna kill you... you have to... get away from him. Go... now!"

Jody had already surmised the situation, hoping Richie didn't notice that she had picked up her weapon, moving away from Peter to gain some space to spin and aim at Richie, but she couldn't act fast enough.

The jolting surprise of a taser contact stunned her so rapidly, she couldn't even cry out, but she was able to fire off a single shot before the electrical shock sent her crashing backwards.

The bullet grazed the flesh of Richie's upper left arm, knocking him to the ground. Jody fell across Peter's body before sliding to the floor.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richard got to his knees, holding his bleeding arm and he was surprised to see Peter's hazel eyes glaring at him. The unadulterated fury radiating from Peter's pained expression spoke volumes to Richard. Richard responded by laughing, despite his pain.

"Don't think I'm worried, Caine. You're not going to get the chance to kill me, though Jody came much closer to it than I ever imagined." He grunted as he checked his bleeding arm again.

Even though Peter was close to passing out again from the throbbing ache of his injuries, he was still trying warn Jody, still trying to get her out of danger and he whispered, "Run... Jody... "

The air was filled with the sound of Richard's maniacal laughter. "Now, Detective Peter, that must be the most _ridiculous_ thing I've _ever_ heard anyone say! Even at my worst, I was smart enough to recognize an impossible situation when I saw it."

Richard bent down and picked up Jody's still body as if she were no heavier than a rag doll and moved her to a mattress placed in the center of the room. He pulled out her handcuffs and placed them on her with her hands to the back, then retrieved an additional length of rope to tie her feet together. He stood to survey his handiwork, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Peter couldn't see what Richard was doing when he moved away with Jody and tried to roll over slightly. He strained to see if Richard was harming Jody further, but the effort cost him tremendously. His broken arm ached so badly, he could hardly see straight.

_'There has to be a way out of this! There has to be!'_ he kept telling himself over and over, because he'd been impossible situations before and overcome them.

Again, he tried to summon his inner resources to quiet his pain and give him enough strength to save Jody from Richard's bizarre sense of retribution. And he could feel the first inklings of calm from his efforts... until he thought of Jody's plight again and his raging emotions blasted his Shaolin abilities out of the water.

There was one thought Peter couldn't get out of his mind. If the way he had been beaten was any indication of Richie's violence, adding a sexual component to the mix would make Jody's form of torture a thousand times worse, especially if she rejected him.

Richard's childish ego wouldn't tolerate rejection easily. Once again, a child in a man's body was a very dangerous situation.

"Well, I've got to step out to run a few errands, pick up a few more things I'll need for tonight's escapades. You know how it is, I want everything to be perfect for Jody. Maybe I'll even find a victim to pass along a bit more brain juice for added enjoyment tonight."

He saw Peter's angry reaction to his announcement and laughed.

"It's driving you crazy, isn't it, Peter? Just knowing that as you lie there helplessly, I'm killing more and more people. All the while, it's making me smarter and smarter."

"No," Peter said, breathlessly, "what... drives me crazy is seeing what you've become... how you've poisoned your spirit. You might be smarter, but you've lost everything that ever made you special."

"DON'T! Don't you _ever_ call me _special_ again!" Richard erupted into a spewing geyser of rage and bitter hatred as he stormed over to Peter's location.

Somehow, Richard must have recognized what he saw in Peter and backed off a bit. "No, I need you alive for a bit longer, if only to keep Jody in line. That's okay, Peter. You stay here and watch over Jody until I return. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't die before I got back, for I plan to revel every moment of your demise."

Then he left the two partners alone; one unconscious, the other nearly so – both unable to do a thing to save the other. It was the last thought on Peter's mind as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Grimly, Kermit and Mary Margaret approached Frank Strenlich.

"Chief."

"In a minute. Any of you seen Powell around?" He bellowed the question and waited expectantly for a reply.

When none came, he slammed a fist down on Jody's desk hard enough to threaten upsetting the various stacks of files there.

"Sorry, Chief, we just got back from Petry's apartment," Skalany offered as an excuse.

"Damn!" Frank exclaimed, then sighed, and gave up on trying to find Jody right then. Instead, he turned to his waiting detectives. "What have you got?"

"Nothing. Zippo. Nada. There was nothing there for us to find," Kermit said grimly.

Mary Margaret jumped in with more information. "Richie's definitely our man, though. Apparently, Peter went on his own to talk to our witness from Camryn's murder, Julio Mendez, who lives in Peter's apartment building. Peter had spoken to him a few days ago – something the Captain had strictly forbade him doing, I might add."

Her fingers pantomimed strangling Peter for a moment before relaxing and proceeding with her report to Frank. "Julio had been trying to call him ever since but couldn't reach him. He was thrilled to hear from me, and then he told me why. It seems he was really concerned about the way Peter looked when he left him after the interview."

"And why's that?" Frank asked, not really looking forward to the answer, mostly because it probably lead to Peter's disappearance.

An impatient Kermit jumped in. "Because Julio said the man he saw leaving the garage looked a lot like a developmentally disabled kid who used to hang around the apartment building on the weekends... sound like anybody we _used_ to know?"

When Frank frowned, Kermit continued, "Well, Blake's team didn't turn up a damned thing at Petry's apartment, either. If Peter went straight to the apartment to confront Richie after interviewing Mendez, he didn't leave any sign of his visit."

"So, where the hell is Richie hiding Peter?" Mary Margaret asked, the frustration of worrying over Peter the past few days welling over in her expression.

Frank ignored her question, preferring to launch into action instead of bandying about suppositions. "Kermit, hit the computer again. Cross reference any of the murder victims as far as property other than their known addresses. Maybe you can turn up something there."

"On it," Griffin said brusquely, heading for his office.

"Skalany, I want you out on the streets. Broderick's got the current search assignments. Right now, our only lead is that Peter is in an abandoned apartment or tenement building near where his car was found abandoned. We're doing floor-by-floor searches."

"Well, that will only take two or three years," Mary Margaret muttered as she headed in Broderick's direction.

"I heard that, Skalany."

Sighing, he added. "Watch your back out there. If you find Petry, remember he's already killed a couple dozen people. One more wouldn't bother him in the least."

"Gotcha, Chief. I'll phone in if I find anything."

"You bet your ass you will! I'm tired of having detectives who don't follow proper procedure!"

Skalany had already disappeared from view, but it didn't stop him from finishing his thought for the other detectives and officers around him.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"I'm sorry to pull you out on a fool's errand, Caine," Paul said despondently as he pulled into the precinct's parking lot. "I know you're dead on your feet from traveling day and night to get back here, but I couldn't just sit around the station anymore."

A gentle touch to his shoulder told him Caine felt he had nothing to forgive him for. Paul turned his head, staring into Kwai Chang's hazel eyes and was reminded again of Peter and how worried he was about him.

"It was worth... a shot?" Caine said quietly, gesturing with an open hand.

"A shot in the dark is more like it." Paul sighed and turned off the engine before striking the steering wheel hard. "Damn! We've got to find Peter before Richard kills him!"

This time, Caine's hand stayed on his shoulder and Paul felt a warmth spreading from it, bringing with it a steady wave of comforting peace. As soon as he realized what was happening, Paul jerked away from Caine.

"Save that for Peter! He needs it more than I do!" he shouted bitterly and opened the car door.

Paul had taken several paces from the car before turning to face the Shaolin priest. Sighing, he began to apologize when Caine held up a hand and joined him where he stood. "We will find our son and bring him home safely. Believe in nothing else, for Peter can sense such faith and courage and it will help empower him for what it ahead."

Searching Caine's expression, Paul asked, "And just what is ahead, Caine?"

Sadness wafted over Kwai Chang like a huge fog bank flowing over a hillside. For a moment, Paul thought the man was going to collapse as he opened himself to his other senses. Holding him with a steady arm, Paul shook him slightly. "Caine? Caine, talk to me."

Kwai Chang's dark eyes centered on him and he whispered his words so quietly, Paul almost missed them, but he didn't miss their portent. "Pain. Pain is ahead for our son."

An unstoppable shiver caught Paul with the gravity of Caine's statement and he released his hold, stepping back as he organized his thoughts into some semblance of order.

Rubbing a hand across his mouth, Paul galvanized himself to the task of finding Peter. "Come on, Caine, let's see what they found out while we were gone."

He started walking with a hand across the priest's back, guiding him into action as he whispered softly, "And we _will_ find him, this I swear."

They had just entered the precinct with Paul slightly ahead of Kwai Chang when Caine stopped and leaned against the wall with an outstretched hand. Paul had taken several steps before he realized that Caine was no longer with him.

Spinning around, he spied Caine's pale face in the crowd and hurried back to him. Paul started to talk, only to realize the man was already in communication – apparently with Peter. And by the looks of it, the news he was receiving was bad.

Finally, Caine's tear-filled expression turned towards him. "Peter is in terrible... agony. It only worsens with time."

"Any more word on where he is?"

"No, but now Jody is trapped with him, too."

"Jody? But she's been gone... she was due back this morning."

"She is with him. Also in grave danger."

Paul didn't say anything, only spun around and tore off into the bullpen, calling Frank's name as he went.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Chapter 8**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Upon entering the living room of the abandoned apartment, Richard found both his victims awake. Without saying a word, he walked up and slapped Jody hard across the face. Peter went crazy, reacting with more fervor than Richard thought possible, so Richard repeated the slap, just to watch Peter's reaction again.

But Richard became bored with that activity rather quickly. Dropping Jody to the floor, he walked over to Peter and started on Peter, relishing in Jody's cries.

"You want me to stop, Jody?" he asked with an innocent tone, but there was no evidence of innocence whatsoever in his demeanor.

"Hell, yes, I want you to stop!" Jody screamed in frustration.

"All you have to do is ask me real nice," he said, relinquishing his hold on Peter's bloodied shirt. He stepped away from the nearly unconscious detective.

"You know, I just want to be your friend, Jody," he said with a leer, his eyes raking over her body hungrily.

"Yeah, right, Richie, I can see friendship written all over your face."

Richie chuckled as he knelt before her. "Well, we can do this one of two ways. You can make this enjoyable for the both of us – or, you can make it enjoyable just for me. I don't have a problem with taking what I want from you. With or without your permission, but you see I've had the worst crush on you since the first time I met you. Out of homage to that more innocent time, I'm willing to play nice with you."

"You make me sick, Richie! What happened to you?"

"Richard! It's Richard now!"

He took a deep breath. "I grew up, Jody, I finally grew up. So what's it going to be?" he asked, enjoying the process of watching her squirm.

"Don't... Jody. Don't do... what he wants," Peter pleaded. He had revived somewhat and must have overheard the last part of the conversation.

"Shut up, Caine! You have nothing to do with this!" Richard growled angrily.

"The hell I don't!" Peter tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse bellow. His dark eyes flashed with anger as he continued. "I helped... raise you. Part of this is my fault!"

As Peter finished, he fell back to the ground exhausted by the short speech.

"Oh, give it a rest! It's always poor Peter this and poor Peter that! You should hear what Camryn really thought about you!"

"You son of a bitch!" Peter exclaimed, the adrenaline bringing him and his emotions wide awake.

"Hmm, maybe I could use a little pre-sex appetizer. Nothing better for that than beating the shit out of Peter Caine!" he said, getting to his feet and stepping towards Peter's position on the couch.

"No!" Jody shouted for attention, "Richie – I mean, Richard, I thought you said you had a special night planned for us."

That caught Richard's attention and he turned to her. His rage disappeared as rapidly as a screaming infant's wail when given a warm bottle. "Jody? Do you mean it? Really?"

She gave him her best smile and nodded seductively.

Glancing back at Peter, he muttered, "Thanks, Peter, you played your part nicely."

Peter's raspy breathing stopped for a moment as he reacted even more strongly than before. "No! Jody, no, not this way! You're doing exactly what he wants!" Peter shouted as he struggled against his bonds.

Richard, still standing near Peter, leaned over and struck Peter hard on his broken limb. Peter screamed – not only because of his pain, but because of what Jody had just committed herself to. Unable to do anything about it or the encroaching darkness, he simply passed out.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Caine stood with Paul and Frank as the Chief went over the results of the latest search patterns when Caine collapsed suddenly. Luckily, Paul's reactions were quick enough to catch him before Caine fell all the way to the ground.

Lo Si came into the room just as Caine opened his eyes again.

Frank stepped aside as the Ancient hovered over Caine, who moved sluggishly, as if trying to regain consciousness. Paul put a hand on Caine's shoulder. Though he was aware the Shambala Master was only partly recovered, he had to ask, "Is Peter..?"

Caine looked terrible and Paul's breath caught in his chest. Whatever had happened was bad, really bad. The thought of Peter now dead became too frightening for Paul to actually put into words. Caine put a limp hand over his to put his mind at ease.

"Peter is still alive, but his injuries are compounding rapidly with Richard's spiraling mental status. If we wait much longer, we will lose him."

Paul bit his lip to keep from cursing, but Frank lacked Paul's restraint and let loose a stream of expletives before getting on the phone to light a fire under his search teams.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After recovering from the shock of Peter's sudden burst of pain, Kwai Chang tried to reach Peter's subconscious.

_"Father? What are you doing here?"_ Peter asked, unable to keep his weakness and pain from passing through their link.

"My son, I was worried about you."

Peter interrupted him before he could finish his statement. _"Don't worry about me, Pop! You have to help me help Jody! Otherwise... God! You have to help me! Some chi maybe, or help me to buffer my pain long enough to get free." _

"Peter, your condition is so weak, you cannot really expect to be able to – "

_"What would you have me do? Lie here while Richard rapes Jody? No! I'm going to do something. With or without your help, damn it!" _

"Quiet, Peter, I will help you, but you must remember the risk to yourself is great in your current state."

_"Just do it, Pop! Please, just do it!"_ Peter implored.

There was nothing for Kwai Chang to do, but acquiesce.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit sat at Jody's desk, stymied by the lack of progress in finding her or Peter. Sergeant Broderick walked over to him. "You know, I saw her on the phone right before she left, but my request for phone records is taking forever."

"It came from Peter's cell phone," Kermit replied quietly, deep in thought. "Unfortunately, it's been turned off."

Broderick's eyebrows went up. "How the hell do you know – I mean, I was the one to put in that request and I haven't heard anything."

That response brought a slight smile to Kermit's lips, which rapidly vanished as he thoughts returned to Jody.

"I know Powell," Griffin started speaking again, bypassing Broderick's stammered reply. He spoke aloud, but it was more for his own benefit. There was something he was missing – something he should be able to see.

"Jody wouldn't just take off like that when she knew Peter was missing, especially if the call came from Peter. She'd let us know, in some way, where she was going."

After another moment of silent pondering, Kermit spoke again. "Tell me what else was going on around here when she left."

"Ah, Kermit, it was crazy right then."

One look from Kermit stifled Broderick's complaint and he took a deep breath, trying to remember as many details as possible.

"The Chief had a phone call... hell, just about everybody was on the phone. There were lots of empty desks, too... and Lettie, the file clerk, was making deliveries about that time."

Both men's eyes went to Jody's desktop, covered with three different stacks of files. Kermit picked up one stack, Broderick picked up another. Unfortunately, there wasn't any treasure awaiting discovery underneath either one of them.

Paul and Frank walked up about that time with Caine and Lo Si following them. Caine looked like he could barely stand and was heavily supported by Lo Si. Kermit knew he was onto something and wouldn't allow himself to be distracted.

"Chief, grab that other stack."

Nodding pensively, Frank picked it up and there was Jody's rapidly scribbled note in all its glory. Paul snatched it up and read it aloud, then slapped the paper with his other hand.

Paul shifted into command mode. "Damn, Peter's been so close the whole time – only three miles away! Kermit, you come with Caine and Lo Si in my car. Frank, once you get things moving, I want you over there, too. Get all available units rolling to that location now, you hear me?"

Strenlich dropped the files back onto the desk as he replied to the departing group, "Got it! I'll be there ASAP!"

Grabbing the phone on Jody's desk, Strenlich punched in phone numbers in rapid succession. Within moments, he had every available unit on its way.

**oOoOoOoOo**

With the help of his father and Lo Si, Peter was able to utilize his own Shaolin skills enough to block most of the debilitating pain he felt. That was the first step.

The next phase, repeatedly pulling and relaxing the rope bindings to loosen them, all with a badly broken limb involved. It was excruciating, but Peter managed it, because a magical strength came from Caine and Lo Si working in tandem.

Just as there have been documented cases where a normal person achieved incredible feats while under great stress, for example, a mother lifting a full-sized car off her trapped child, Peter's miraculous escape was just as amazing. Though, it was not without consequences, both to his father and Lo Si... and to himself.

Already weakened and injured, Peter knew when he had expended the last of his energy, he would be severely incapacitated, perhaps even close to death. Any cost was worth it, he decided, if he was able to keep Richard off of Jody.

With his hands finally free, Peter was able to move around enough to reach the knife he usually kept in his boot – his 'backup' as he liked to call it. When he did, he figured out why he couldn't reach it before, even though he'd made numerous attempts during his captivity.

Somehow, the knife handle had gotten jammed against the lip of the boot, preventing him access to it, especially in his limited range of motion being tied up like he was. He used his good hand to slice through the ropes binding his feet and went to stand on his own for the first time in days.

The room immediately began to spin. His head pounded with his upright position and his skin felt hot and dry as he burned with fever. Grabbing the side of the couch for balance while holding his right arm close to his aching ribs, he paused long enough to regain his equilibrium, and then he staggered toward the next room where Richard had dragged Jody.

Caine's voice rang through his groggy mind. For a moment, Peter thought he had to be hallucinating from his fever, because his father sounded so very weak.

_"Peter?"_ Caine repeated again, only more concerned this time. Then Peter felt another infusion of chi strengthening his body, telling him it wasn't a dream.

"Father? Father, I've gotten free."

_"Hold on, we are on our way. We know your location and will be there soon." _

Hearing Jody's muffled protests from the next room, Peter shook his head. "Not enough time, Pop," Peter mumbled as he stumbled forward, willing stiff muscles into action. "Gotta do something now."

_"No! Peter, wait for us!"_ Caine called out, but Peter was no longer listening to him.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Richard was on top of Jody, his hands roaming all over her, pushing her clothes askew as Peter made it to the doorway. Judging by her bloodied appearance, Richard had taken the time to beat on her while Peter had been working to free himself.

Peter braced himself with his back against the door jam, using it to keep from falling. He wiped his left hand across his face to remove the troublesome sweat dripping into his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, and then hugged his broken arm, committing himself to the task ahead.

He had to get Richard away from Jody at any cost. Help was on the way. He just had to delay things long enough for them to get there. Sliding his knife into the back of his pants, he called in a raspy voice, "Hey, you wanna get off my partner?"

Richard spun around, rising to his knees, shocked to see Peter standing there. He recovered quickly enough and said, "Well, well, well, if it isn't the great Detective Caine freed – maybe there's more to you than I gave you credit for." Richie laughed aloud. "Then again, how stupid of you to come for me, instead of running for help!"

Richard shook his head in a way very reminiscent of the old Richie Petry. "I guess it's true what they say, stupid is as stupid does. I'm afraid you are still very stupid, Peter Caine."

Richard stood, leaving Jody on the floor, still handcuffed, but fighting mad.

Peter caught Jody's gaze and nodded to her ever so slightly in a communication developed between the two partners over the years, letting her know he had a plan in motion. Jody steadied her breathing and waited for Peter's signal.

"So, Peter, what are you going to do? Wrestle me to the ground until I cry 'uncle'?" Richard asked, with his hands spread out wide in front of him. Something about his comment tickled Richard's funny bone. Maniacal laughter filled the room.

Jody whispered loudly, "Asshole."

Richard quickly glanced backward as he stopped laughing to check on Jody. He raised a hand to hit her. As he did, Peter pulled the knife from its hiding place and tossed it high into the air in one smooth motion to get a throwing grip on it. Waiting for it to fall, Peter gave a quick, sure nod to Jody.

She reacted immediately. Lifting her tied feet together, she kicked Richard in the back of one knee, throwing off his balance. The big man staggered with the sudden blow and angrily turned to retaliate. In that moment, Peter deftly caught his knife, acquiring the grip he was looking for. He pulled back and threw the deadly knife with all the strength he had at Richard's fully exposed back.

Richard screamed in agony and reached back for the offending knife lodged in his upper shoulder. He was just able to enclose his fingers around its handle and jerked it out, eliciting another sharp cry of pain.

Breathing heavily, he looked down at Jody, and then at the bloody knife in his hand. Jody shrank back, scrambling to move away from him as quickly as she could in her bound state.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter's knife hit Richard hard in the back, causing caused Richard's eyes to flutter for a moment before he dropped to his knees in front of Jody.

"J-Jody? Oh, Detective Jody, I'm so sorry. I did a _very_ bad thing this time. _Very, very bad,_" Richie whispered, releasing the knife he still held, letting it fall to the floor as he crawled on his hands and knees towards Jody.

Jody's nerves were shot. Seeing Richard acting in a way so reminiscent of the old Richie was almost more than she could handle.

"Stay away f-from me!" she screamed, frantic because Richard blocked her view of Peter. She had watched Peter start to fall after throwing the knife, but since then Richie's looming form was all she could see.

"But – but I just – I just want to help you, Detective Jody. You're hurt," Richie said ever so softly as he moved closer to her, but slowly, very slowly.

Jody's face bore the brunt of Richie's recent brutality, along with a wrenched shoulder from Richie's rough handling as he dragged her from the other room, beating her viciously whenever she resisted his roaming hands.

"Please... just stay away," she begged as she scooted back towards the wall behind her in her efforts to keep some distance from Richie.

Tears began to fall as the events of the day finally became too much for her. Jody didn't know if Richie was playing head games with her or not, but she didn't want him to ever touch her again.

"But, Jody, let me help you... I don't know how long I can fight them."

With wide-eyed innocence, Richard held up the keys to her handcuffs and Jody's breath caught in her chest at the sight of freedom dangling so close to her.

"Yes – yes, Richie, uncuff me now!" she said, shifting gears in an instant.

There was some sincere in Richard's expression that finally allowed her to believe him. The locking mechanism of the handcuffs released with the turn of a key and at last, she was free. The cuffs had only been on for a short while, but to Jody Powell, it had felt like a lifetime, and then some.

Moving her arms forward, she groaned aloud as she realized Richard must have done more damage to her shoulder than she first thought. The joint almost refused to allow any movement at all.

The tears filling her eyes began to stream down her bloodied cheeks, but all she could think of was Peter. She had felt the evil Richard's wrath for only a few hours, but Peter had suffered days at his hand.

Willing herself to move, she tried to find Peter, only to be stopped again by Richard. Her heart stopped beating when she saw Richard still held the bloody knife. The knife was suddenly an overwhelming obstacle and she stared at it for a moment, wondering if it would soon be the instrument of her death.

Richard moved towards her, then stopped at her feet, using the knife to slice through the ropes binding them together. She looked up in a stunned silence to see Richie's gentle smile. "You're free, Detective Jody. Here, let me help you up."

She rearranged her clothes a bit to cover what needed to be covered, suddenly modest in front of the innocent Richie helping her to her feet. "Here, you better hold this," he said, "The voices are starting to get loud again."

Richie handed her the knife, then reached out with both hands to pull her up easily by the waist.

"Thank you, Richie."

Taking his arm, she squeezed and said, "I mean it, thank you."

He grimaced slightly when he moved the wrong way.

"You're bleeding, Richie. You should sit down."

"It's not bad, Detective Jody, not really. Not as bad as having all those voices yelling in my head. That _really_ hurts," he said, nodding his head slightly.

Jody didn't listen any further when she finally saw Peter. Her friend was lying on the floor, barely conscious, cradling his broken arm to his chest, trying to find the breath to breathe and not succeeding.

Her knees weakened at the sight and Richie had to catch her to keep her from folding. "Detective Jody, _you_ are the one who needs to be sitting," he said softly.

"No, I have to check on Peter. Get some help. Get some..."

The room suddenly swam before Jody's eyes and she fell back.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Jody!" Richie cried out, more scared than before. Now, he was surrounded by badly hurt people. Worse, they were badly hurt people in that condition _because_ of him. And they were people he cared about.

For the first time in his life, Richie really hated himself because of his actions. He knew he was in big trouble for what the other voices in his head had done, but all he could think of was getting his friends some help.

_'Maybe Peter can tell me what to do,'_ he thought desperately and he scrambled to Peter's side.

Richie cringed visibly as he saw the damage done to his 'Big Brother', especially knowing he was responsible for inflicting most of it.

"Peter... Peter?" he whispered softly, then gently shook Peter's arm.

The innocent motion elicited a dramatic effect in Peter who glanced up and saw his tormentor at his side. Peter reacted immediately. He tried to swing out while also getting away from him, but only succeeded in aggravating his injuries.

Richie didn't hesitate as he knelt down even further and hugged Peter to him. Peter moaned from pain and was red-faced with fever, but he tenaciously struggled against his touch. Richie simply pretended he was hugging delicate eggshells as he held him and whispered the same comforting words his mother always whispered to him whenever he was scared or in pain.

The effort seemed to work because there was a shift in Peter's attitude. He stopped fighting Richie.

"Richie?" Peter asked, very confused.

"Yes, Detective Peter." Richie smiled proudly, then tears formed in his eyes. "I'm sorry for being bad. The voices..."

"I know, I know. The voices were bad."

Peter's respiration was in short, raspy breaths and he kept squinting, as if his vision was blurred.

"Where's Jody?" he asked, then he began to frantically look around.

"She's asleep," Richie replied. When he glanced back at Peter, he saw horror write itself across Peter's feverish expression.

He realized Peter had jumped to the wrong conclusion, assuming Richie meant the worst, using asleep in a childlike reference to death. "No, really, Peter. She's asleep."

Peter relaxed a bit, but not completely, wiping a shaky hand across his sweaty forehead. "Richie, I need my cell phone."

Richie's face scrunched up as he tried to remember where it was, then he smiled and reached into a jacket pocket.

"Here it is, Peter," he said, handing it to Peter.

Peter took the device, only to have Richie add, "But the battery is dead."

Sighing deeply, Peter closed his eyes, only to be shaken again by a frantic Richie. "Detective Peter? Detective Peter, are you okay?"

"I'm here, Richie, I'm here... Just trying to reach my father."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter opened his eyes, expecting to find Richie's eager face looking down at him, only to see the mildew-speckled ceiling above him.

Turning his head, he saw Richie's tall lumbering form a few feet from him, standing about halfway between him and Jody.

Peter's fear blossomed into full force when he saw Peter's knife was back in Richie's hands. Richie was standing with both fists to his temples, tears streaming down his face.

"Richie?" Peter called, wanting to get up, but barely able to raise his head from the floor.

"I'm sorry, Detective Peter. I'm... so... sorry. I can't fight them anymore."

Peter tried to swallow, but couldn't. Unfortunately, he knew all too well what Richie was referring to – the bad voices in his head, the voices who had wanted to see both Jody and himself dead.

Peter wanted to handcuff Richie before he could do any more harm. He wanted to grab Jody and run. He wanted to get his hands on a gun or Richie's taser. Something. Anything. But he couldn't accomplish any of the above, so he tried to help the gentle Richie stay in control.

"Richie... remember that game we used to play called Simon Says?" he rasped as the edges of his vision wavered with increasing darkness.

"Y-yes..." Richie replied, more tenuous and childlike than ever.

"Let's play that one again. You tell those voices you are the boss. You are Simon Says and they have to do what _you_ tell them to do."

Peter's vision was almost gone as were most of his senses except for pain perception and that seemed stuck in overdrive. Struggling to stay alert, he wondered how long it would be before his father and the troops arrived. He tried to reach his father, but either he was too weak or something was wrong with his father, because all attempts had failed thus far.

There was an unholy screech that filled the room, practically stopping Peter's heart with its loud keening.

"Uh-oh," Peter whispered, knowing things had just taken a dramatic downhill turn.

When Richie turned back towards him again, all innocence was gone and only evil remained as he laughed coldly. "Peter, you are so incredibly stupid! A child's game? You thought a child's game could keep me at bay?" Richard exclaimed as he stared down at Peter with malicious intent.

"Hey, it was... worth a try," Peter quipped, trying to sum up the resources for another go-round with Richie. "Where'd you go anyway? I thought the good guys were winning finally."

Richie's face grimaced with a fearsome frown and he hesitated before speaking, "Somehow, that _brat_ managed to get the upper hand, but not for long."

"Guess all those smarts didn't do you a bit of good when it came down to good old-fashioned caring and a heart of gold, huh?" Peter whispered, barely containing his emotions.

"Well, he's gone now!" Richie's voice boomed in the empty room.

"How can he be gone? Damn it, Richie...he _is_ you!" Peter spat out the words with a venomous anger, sick of seeing this Richard for another second.

Richard responded by stomping over to Peter and simply, but cruelly picked him up by his broken arm. All Peter knew from that point on was blinding white pain. A white-hot fireball that started in his arm and traveled all over his body, stopping in his head just long enough to go nova. A galaxy-ending explosion in full magnitude – pain to top all other pain he'd ever known before.

Peter knew he was screaming in agony, but there was nothing he could do to stop that. Again, he wondered how much longer it would be before the others arrived. And if he would still be alive when they did.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Chapter 9**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Paul Blaisdell drove like a madman with the car's wailing sirens warning others to stay out of his way. He was praying they could reach Peter and Jody in time when Caine cried out in agony. Both he and Kermit jumped in their seats in the front of the car, badly startled. The agonized cry was heart-wrenching, even over the sirens – worse because they knew what the cry meant for Peter.

Glancing into his rearview mirror, Paul saw Lo Si ministering to Caine, whose ashen face reflected terrible pain, his lips mumbling indistinguishable words, his body cast in heavy sweat. Paul tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to control his fears.

Briefly, Paul wondered how much more Caine could take. The man was already extremely weak from trying to help Peter. He realized he was focusing his worry on Caine instead of Peter, because deep down, he knew Peter had to be close to death for his father to look so bad. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator as Kermit pulled out his Desert Eagle and released the safety.

Paul recognized that tense posture in his old friend and knew if an opportunity came up, Kermit would shoot to kill without hesitation – not that he expected any less from Kermit. Those instincts had kept them both alive on more than one occasion in their past.

He went to swerve around a delivery van illegally double parked and narrowly missed an oncoming car. Paul knew he was being reckless, endangering the lives of everyone in the car, but they were running out of time – and that was a commodity of which Peter had little left.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"I'll take care of you later, Detective Peter," Richard said with hatred dripping from his voice.

He released the unconscious Peter Caine and started again towards Jody Powell with knife in hand, but he froze in place when he heard sirens in the distance. Paranoia, his constant companion, caused him to run to a window. From his vantage point, he could see patrol cars blocks away turn off their lights and sirens, then cruise to a stop down the street.

"No, this can't be happening," he screamed as he ran to another window facing the intersection. "I've been given a miracle and _nobody_ is going to take it away from me! I won't allow them to!"

Rushing from the room, Richard fled down the back stairs and exited into an alley. He crossed the street where a city crew had a transformer box open, doing some repair work on it.

Richard tried to seem casual as he glanced up and down the street, slowing his pace, blending into the city landscape. He paused when he saw Paul's car screech to a stop a short distance from him and he backed up towards the crew, intending to grab a hostage.

There was a range of voices and personalities parading through his consciousness at a nonstop pace as the adrenaline continued to pump through his system, but he stopped when he realized he didn't have his taser with him. And the people on the street stared at him strangely amidst the interacting voices streaming from his mouth. He obviously attracting attention, but then he saw it was more because of his bloody arm from the gunshot and knife wound that was attracting the most frightened stares.

A very weak Kwai Chang Caine stepped from the car, heavily supported by Lo Si, and started speaking to Richard.

"Richie Petry, you must cease this madness!" Caine called out with one hand extended before him in warning.

"So says the great Kwai Chang Caine!" Richard shouted back, still moving toward potential hostages.

"No, so says a friend. This path you have chosen can only end in death."

Peter's father could barely stand, but there was something sincere in his efforts to reach him.

"Yeah, it'll end in death... _my_ death, if I go with you," Richard shot back.

He slowly backed up towards a cornered city crewman trapped between him and the open transformer box.

"No! Richie! Listen to me!" Caine exclaimed, but Richard was beyond listening any longer.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After pulling up to their destination, Paul saw Richard Petry moving down the street. Years of stakeouts and following bad guys told him instantly that Richard was on the run.

Reining in his gut reaction to run the murderer down with his car, he pulled over to the curb. Both he and Kermit got out of the car with weapons drawn. Paul automatically used the car as a shield, laying his elbows atop the vehicle and drew careful aim while Kermit slid out of the passenger side of the car facing Richard.

"Richard, it's time to stop this madness and turn yourself in."

Kermit slipped behind Caine and Lo Si as they endeavored to reason with Richard. He worked his way to line up a shot if Richard continued to make his way over to the stranded electrician.

"Sure, Captain, anything you say." There was nothing about Richard's behavior that indicated he was going to back down.

Paul saw Kermit in position, then he nodded to let Paul know he was ready. Paul returned the gesture with a curt nod of his own, but he kept the center of his gaze on Richard. Both Paul's cop instinct and something about Caine's behavior told Paul Richard was about to take matters into his own hands.

Richard rushed the electrician and Paul fired without hesitation. He heard the echoing racket of a second shot coming from Kermit's direction. Just whose bullet had sent Richard flying, he wasn't sure, but one of them had hit their target.

Paul kept his gun poised at ready, just in case another shot was necessary.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The force of the shot propelled Richard into the open transformer. Kwai Chang stretched a hand forward in a vain attempt to push Richard clear of the dangerous box, but his depleted chi prevented him from succeeding. He fell to his knees on the cement pavement, surprised when there was no assistance from Lo Si. Somehow, the Ancient had suddenly disappeared.

The force of the shot was too strong for Richard to overcome and Richard fell backward against the live, high-voltage connections, causing the area to erupt into a fireball of electrical sparks and shorting out power to the immediate area.

As the area lit up like the Fourth of July, Kwai Chang's eyes closed shut and his last thoughts were those of his son and how he had no more strength left to give him.

_'Peter? Peter, my son, I have failed you.'_

Despair washed over him as he realized he didn't even have enough strength left to link with Peter and a tear slipped down his cheek as he relinquished his hold on consciousness.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The fireworks had barely settled down before Paul was at Caine's side. Caine had collapsed without giving them the specifics of Peter's location. They had an address, but there were eight floors of apartments in that old building and no time to search floor by floor.

Paul heard angry shouts coming from Kermit's direction. He looked around and saw Kermit shouting at Lo Si in a furious rage, "JUST WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

Lo Si weathered it well. He simply folded his hands in front of him and said quietly, "Saving your eternal soul."

Kermit almost threw down his gun in pure frustration. "That was lost a long time ago, old man!"

"No, it was not. It simply went into hiding, but it is still a spirit filled with good and courage. It has been emerging again under Captain Blaisdell's healing guidance, but I think you knew that already."

Kermit stood speechless in both complete annoyance and amazement. Unable to address either emotion, he turned and took out his frustrations on a nearby trash receptacle, kicking it in livid fury as he shouted, "DAMN!"

Paul wondered what had set off the ex-merc, but then realized Lo Si was on the move again. A weathered hand touched Paul's arm and he jumped. Magically, Lo Si was facing him across Caine's unconscious body, appearing, it seemed, out of nowhere. Paul shrugged off his confusion and met Lo Si's gaze.

The elderly man had a troubled expression on his face as he looked down at his friend with deep concern. Closing his eyes, he extended hands above Caine's body, searching with senses Paul Blaisdell would never be able to understand.

"Lo Si..." Paul started to ask, only to be stopped by Lo Si's hand on his shoulder.

"I will attend to Kwai Chang," the Ancient said solemnly. "Peter has urgent need of your assistance on the third floor." Lo Si pointed upward for emphasis.

Paul followed Lo Si's gaze and nodded, glancing back at the unconscious Caine for another moment. "Will he..."

"Kwai Chang will be fine, but Peter will not. Caine asks for your assistance to ensure the continuation of your son's life. He puts Peter into your capable hands, but know this. Peter is very badly hurt. It will take the combined efforts and prayers of all of his friends and family for him to survive this," Lo Si said grimly. "Help Peter until Kwai Chang can join you."

Paul didn't need to hear another word. He stood and briskly waved closer the police officers now surrounding him.

"I need one man with a radio to go with me upstairs."

An uniformed officer stepped forward.

"You," he said, pointing to another man. "You watch for the paramedics and personally direct them to the third floor when they arrive. The rest of you, crowd control. Keep those people back until the city deals with that transformer. Call it in. Any available uniforms are to be on patrol, watching for looters. Kermit, you're in charge down here until Strenlich arrives."

Kermit nodded and began issuing more orders as Paul disappeared with the uniformed man. Paul ran faster than he had in years toward the buildings' entrance and prayed Peter could last long enough for emergency services to arrive.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Power was knocked out for several surrounding blocks. The shock itself should have killed Richard several times over, but it didn't. In fact, he was opening his eyes only moments later. It was a reaction that elicited amazement in both Kermit and the other personnel present.

But there was a lifeless glint in Richard's eyes when he looked around – something that rapidly changed to bewilderment.

"What...what happened, Detective Kermit?" Richard asked in his slow, familiar Richie tone. "Where am I? Why are there so many people here from work? Did – did I do a bad thing?" he asked, his eyes welling up with tears.

Kermit was so stunned to hear and see the old Richie back that his raging temper was momentarily quieted. It was as if Richie had never turned into a serial killer at all – as if none of the death and pain of the past weeks had ever occurred.

Kermit looked away before he said with a clenched jaw, "Yeah, Richie, you did a bad thing, but let the paramedics look you over before we talk about it."

"Okay, Detective Kermit, I'll be good. I promise."

Kermit nodded, but before he stepped away, he thought he caught the briefest glimpse of a caustic smile cross Richie's lips.

Kermit stood there for a long moment before leaving him under Blake's watchful eye, deeply disturbed, but he cast that aside the moment he thought about Peter's critical state again.

The paramedics had already arrived minutes beforehand. Kermit raced up the stairs to the floor where the rest of the injured were being treated. His wary gaze saw Paul and a very shaky Kwai Chang kneeling beside Peter with Lo Si at their side. Paul seemed prepared to step in for Caine if Caine's weakness grew too great.

Kermit adjusted his sunglasses. The team of paramedics trying to get Peter stabilized for transport appeared frustrated by the wealth of concerned family and friends.

_Good luck, guys. Better sit back and let the Shaolin priests do their stuff and you'll have a much stronger patient for transport. Otherwise, there'll be hell to pay!_

Kermit opted to leave that group alone at the moment – there were more than enough people were there to get in the way as it was. His job was to direct the activities of the arriving police. Besides, Kermit's churning emotions made him feel a little distance would be prudent for everyone's safety.

When Frank finally arrived at the scene, Kermit was released from his commitment to direct the troops. Strenlich was there in full ex-Marine glory, large and in charge, leaving Kermit free to address his own feelings as much as he didn't want to. It was easier to watch Paul and Caine trying to console Peter than to come to terms with his own unexpressed rage.

Kermit had been committed to killing Richie Petry without compunction – until Lo Si had intervened, throwing off his shot. Chagrined, he had looked back at Lo Si and found him at Caine's side, ministering to his friend's needs, then his gaze slid over to Peter.

Richie had brutally beaten Peter within an inch of his life. Knowing Peter, he had fought Petry every step of the way, probably bringing on more abuse by his steadfast defiance.

Yet, watching Paul and Caine work with Peter now nearly broke Kermit's heart. The emotion was soon replaced by rage as Peter seemingly lost in a feverish delirium kept calling Jody's name.

Mary Margaret caught Kermit's eye. They exchanged tight, worried glances before she turned back to Jody. The visibly shaken Jody kept a death grip on Skalany's hand as Jody's team of paramedics moved her via stretcher to their ambulance and then to the hospital.

Jody was pretty banged up too for someone who had only been missing a few hours. Her face was already bruising in several spots and one eye was closed with swelling. The paramedics had one of her arms immobilized and that was just what Kermit could see as they passed. Who knew what they would find when she got to the hospital and a doctor's care.

Kermit wasn't aware of his own movement until an arm stretched out before him – an arm careful not to be to trigger Kermit's automatic defenses, but it was there to keep him from moving forward nonetheless.

"Kermit, stay put." There was a delay before Strenlich's quietly uttered words sank into Kermit's consciousness.

Kermit frowned momentarily before he growled in a hoarse whisper, "Get out of my way."

"Not while you have that look on your face, Kermit," Frank replied in a tone offering no room for compromise.

Kermit turned and gave Frank his undivided attention. That in itself would unnerve most men, but Strenlich stood strong. "What look is that, Chief?"

"The look that says you're about to off Richie."

Frank never broke off the intimidating eye contact as he answered Kermit. In fact, he moved in closer, his face right up against Kermit's in the escalating conflict.

Kermit narrowed his gaze. He stared nose to nose with the ex-Marine for a long while before he backed off a bit. "Well, that certainly took balls of brass... didn't know you had them that big," Kermit muttered as he rubbed his tense neck and studied at the floor for a moment.

"You mean you've never heard them clank when I walk?" Strenlich replied innocently as he patted Kermit on the back and waved over more personnel for assignment detail.

The intensity of the moment now broken, Kermit smirked at Strenlich when the Chief returned to his side and asked, "So did Richie have anything useful too say when you spoke to him?"

Kermit's tired grin vanished as he glanced out the nearby window, watching the paramedics and Blake working around Richie. Kermit was quiet when he spoke next, having dropped all emotion as he stood with his arms crossed in front of him.

"No, not really. He asked if he did a bad thing... " Kermit's voice dropped off even more while watching the paramedics treat Richie's electrical burns and other wounds, then he started again. "The man killed twenty-three people that we know of, beat the crap out of Peter and Jody, and _then – then_ he asks if he did a bad thing."

Kermit pushed up his dark green sunglasses and sighed in fatigue and disgust while rubbing tired eyes. "Damned if he didn't sound just like the old Richie when he said it, too."

"What do we do with him now?" Frank groused.

"We arrest him." Kermit said simply as he replaced his sunglasses.

"That would make for a hell of a trial," Strenlich said sarcastically before adding, "Just imagine the DA presenting the murderer's MO and motive. _'Uh, he did it because he wanted to get smarter, your honor'_. Good Lord, the press would have a field day with it. A frigging three ring circus is more like it!"

"Won't get that far, Frank, and you know it. He'll get off for reasons of mental incompetency. Then they'll tuck him away in some institution until he's old and gray. And that will be the end of it."

"It's too bad, really. He was a good kid before all this happened."

"And he seems to be again."

"You say that like you don't believe it."

"No, Frank, I don't. There's still something different about him, and if what my gut is telling me comes to pass, he might be able to fool a judge into going soft on him."

"What do you mean? You think he's faking it to get out of the charges?"

Kermit didn't answer right away as he watched Richie being taken away to a waiting ambulance, accompanied by Blake and an experienced uniformed officer, hand-picked by Strenlich for the detail.

"Two words, my friend, two words...OH and YEAH." 

**oOoOoOoOo**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"You must relax. Peter will not be out of surgery for hours and Annie will need our strength when she comes back."

Caine had jarred Paul out of his self-imposed quiet. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts, he momentarily forgot where he was.

Annie had gone with Mary Margaret to get something to eat and to walk for a bit. She'd tried to get Paul and Caine to accompany her, but both refused, saying they would eat later.

A quick glance around the room reminded Paul he was standing in the surgical waiting room, poised before the only window there. He'd been staring out into the overcast afternoon, thinking the sun must have thrown away its timeless schedule, thus robbing the day of several hours of sunlight.

Taking a deep breath, Paul turned and looked at Caine closely. The Shaolin priest had collapsed again shortly after they brought Peter into the hospital. Paul had overheard some very stern words coming from the Ancient, warning if Caine didn't slow down, he'd be close to death, too.

The admonition must have reached Caine's heart, because he seemed to heed it and rested as much as possible, though the doctor who had looked at him wanted to keep him under observation.

Biting his lip, Paul saw how Peter had drawn his characteristic stubbornness from both of them, knowing Caine was upright by sheer willpower alone.

Time hadn't helped the Caine's condition. If anything, it had declined in the two hours since they'd been there. Taking Caine by the arm, Paul guided him to a nearby chair and sat down beside him. He studied him quietly in the crowded waiting room.

"I'll relax when you lie down. How's that sound?" Paul challenged.

"It sounds like something.. Peter would say," Caine said quietly, looking away as his voice broke.

"Remember what you told me earlier today, out in the precinct parking lot? Does it still stand? The part of Peter being able to draw from our faith and courage?"

Paul searched Caine's face for confirmation and saw it slowly work its way into Caine's expression. He nodded slightly, then placed a weary hand upon Paul's shoulder.

"Yes, he can. Thank you for reminding me."

"Look, maybe you should be talking with Lo Si or someone more well-versed in counseling," Paul said, suddenly uncomfortable with offering advice to Caine's vulnerable self.

Caine's dark eyes lightened slightly as his expression shifted and he tightened his grip. "No. I think that you are the very person I need to speak with at this moment. We are both here to encourage one another and thereby offer Peter a much stronger sense of love and survival. Peter likes to say that _'things happen for a reason'_."

Paul found himself nodding because he often heard him say it when he was in the process of accepting a situation beyond his control. "Yes, he does."

"You and I are here because things happen for a reason. Perhaps, we are here to encourage. Perhaps, we are here to learn some new lesson. Whatever the reason, we are here for Peter and he will know that when he awakens."

Paul scratched the back of his neck, hesitating to ask Caine, but unable to stop himself. "Caine, is it too much for you right now... with your current weakness..." he stammered, then shook his head and whispered, "Damn."

A moment later, his gaze locked on to Caine and he pressed on, abandoning all else in order to know his heart's desire. "I was afraid to ask this while Annie was here... but how is Peter? I mean how is he really? Do you think he can survive this?"

As Paul struggled to ask his questions, Caine leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It almost seemed like he was preparing himself for Paul's inquiries before Paul worked up the courage to ask them.

"Our son is a most tenacious fighter. This you know to be true."

Paul leaned forward, even though Caine couldn't see the movement with his closed eyes. "Yes, but there's so much... the internal bleeding, his extreme dehydration, the concussion, and the compound fracture of his arm."

Just reciting the list of injuries was enough to make Paul feel nauseated. And he noticed the recital had also caused a quiet flinching on Caine's part, as if he were experiencing those injuries right alongside Peter all over again.

Neither man said anything for a long while. It was quite a dichotomy of the human spirit as both dealt with their fears in completely different fashions. Paul was rigid with tension, his body bent forward waiting on Caine's answer as he rubbed his fingers against the arm of the chair.

Caine, on the other hand, appeared completely relaxed, though pale as he sat back in his chair, his head against the wall, not a bit of tension apparent in his body. Paul Blaisdell knew Caine was employing every Shaolin meditative trick in the book to pull that look off. But it was more than that, it seemed to involve everything Caine had ever believed in – all to deal with the devastating fear of losing his only son.

"Caine?" Paul asked when he couldn't stand the silence any more.

"I apologize," Caine said, slowly opening his eyes and pinning Paul in place with their intensity. "I was searching for Peter's consciousness, searching for the answers you seek, the answers we all seek, but I have nothing more to tell you now. It is in the hands of powers greater than ourselves. But that fact should give us strength... in knowing whatever happens, it is meant to happen."

Caine had probably intended for his words to be comforting, but instead it threw Paul into a frenzy.

"The hell it does!" he shouted, instantly silencing the surrounding area.

Paul put out both hands as he stood, clearly enraged. "You're – you're actually trying to tell me all of Peter's suffering, everything Jody went through, the people who died, all that misery... you're saying it was meant to happen? No, I don't accept that! I can't accept that!"

Paul paced back to the window, then spun around with one hand extended before him, as if ready to slap down anyone ready to contest that opinion. "I refuse to believe in a God who would allow that to happen!"

No one said a word as he turned back to look out the window.

"Paul."

Annie's quiet voice broke the uncomfortable silence and Paul felt his rage melt with its utterance. He had been out of line and Annie was there to witness it. Unable to meet her unseeing gaze, as if looking in her direction would allow her to know the depth of his uncontrolled emotions, as if it would allow her to view that painful landscape he'd tried so hard to hold deep within himself.

He looked back out the window, his solitary haven in the storm of life in which he presently had no control over.

Stopping there, he closed his eyes and prayed for restraint – something he was poorly lacking at the moment. He felt Annie's small frame wrap around him from behind and found he hadn't need to pray for restraint. It had been with him all the time. It just stepped away to get a bite to eat.

As his dear wife's arms tightened around him, he placed his hands over hers and thought perhaps there was some higher power watching over them after all.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The hours passed slowly, excruciatingly slow for those who were waiting. Though the normal surgeries that had been scheduled for the day were long finished. Peter's surgery to stop the internal bleeding had gone on much longer than the doctors had first predicted.

Paul saw a grim-faced nurse approach and he braced himself for bad news.

"Hello, I need to speak with you for a moment, Captain Blaisdell."

The room went deathly quiet.

Dire implications and bleak assumptions flashed through his thoughts. Paul stammered, "Don't you want my wife and Peter's father to join us?"

"No, that won't be necessary. This is regarding another matter, not your son's condition."

The sudden release of tension in the waiting room was almost palpable and Paul quickly nodded as he squeezed Annie's hand and kissed her on the forehead.

Once Paul and the nurse were alone in an unoccupied office, she spoke quietly in a tone that implied strength of character – kind, but forceful, and one that left little room for misconception.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this time, but we've just been informed of a serious multi-vehicular accident involving several cars. There is a great likelihood that most of the severely injured will require surgery."

Paul listened, but he knew he wasn't hiding his bewilderment well. The nurse smiled patiently and went into greater detail.

"The main reason I am telling you this is that very soon, we will be besieged with frantic friends and family of the injured awaiting word of their relatives in surgery. While the overwhelming attendance of your fellow policemen in support of your wounded detective is gratifying to see... there will be little room for the new arrivals. I'm afraid I must ask your people who are not family members to leave the waiting room."

Paul nodded with understanding, realizing there was only standing room available at the moment.

"They are welcome to wait in the lobby or cafeteria and we can page them whenever there is word," she offered.

"No, that won't be necessary. Most of these people are dead on their feet already, having put in several hours of overtime in the past few days. I'll send them home and we'll get word to them one way or another. Thank for your kindness."

He turned to leave when she pressed a hand lightly against his shoulder. "There's one other thing. While I was checking on the status of available surgical suites, I stopped in on Detective Caine and checked his progress. They should be finishing up soon. You can tell that to your wife and Peter's father."

Paul stared into the most caring set of green eyes he'd ever seen and put his hand over hers. "Thank you. You have no idea how comforting that is."

She smiled a very small smile. "Yes, I do. My son was involved in an accident on the job last year and I sat just where you are sitting right now, waiting out the minutes that seemed like days."

Paul nodded. "Then, you do understand. With the surgery so much longer than scheduled, my mind was starting to fill with all kinds of terrible things."

He chuckled with a self-depreciating laugh, but when he glanced up at her, catching her gaze again, he was startled to see tears there.

"Wh-what? What is it?" Paul asked, suddenly on the defensive.

The nurse sought to regain her professional demeanor and had to step away from him a little. "I'm sorry. That's never happened to me before. I'm afraid you'll need to speak with Doctor Schlosser when he comes out of surgery."

Paul didn't allow her the distance she'd just placed between them and demanded more information. "You can't react like that, then leave me hanging. I've got to know what's going on here."

The head nurse licked her lips before deciding to go ahead. "Peter was very badly hurt."

"Yes, yes, tell me something I don't know already," he implored her impatiently.

"They almost lost him on the table twice."

Her green eyes bore into his soul with that announcement before she reached forward, again touching his arm ever so slightly to let him know she understood exactly what he was going through. "But they think they've found the source of the bleeding and were tying it off when I left."

Paul was so stunned by her announcement, he took her hand in his to ground himself in facts, not fears. He had realized Peter's situation was precarious, but never really allowed himself to consider the fact they could actually lose him.

"Here, sit down. You're looking awfully pale. Can I get you something to drink?" The nurse appeared distraught that she'd caused him such discomfort.

He sat down, but shook his head at the offer of a beverage. "No, no, I'm fine. It's just reality settling in, I guess."

Rubbing his hand over his mouth, he gathered himself. "Were they able to operate on his arm, too? To repair the compound fracture?"

The nurse looked uncomfortable, then plunged ahead. "In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose," she muttered before shaking her head. "No, it's a matter of priorities. They had to stop the bleeding. In a few days, maybe tomorrow even depending on how's he's doing, they'll tackle the arm."

"Thank you," Paul said finally, realizing the nurse had definitely overstepped her duties by relaying the information she had. "I really appreciate this. And it will be of great help when the doctor is talking to us. It will give me a chance to come up with some questions I might have been too stunned to ask."

"Well, maybe we can keep it as our little secret."

She smiled as she stood from her kneeling position in front of him. Paul stood along with her and extended a hand to shake in silent thanks.

"It'll be my pleasure. You're very good at this. How long have you been at it?" he asked as they started back towards the waiting room.

"Almost twenty-five years. At times, it seems like much too long. Other times, I'm so glad to be working at a job I was born to do. I just recently took over the supervisory position, though. Usually, I'm in the back, working behind the scenes. "

Nodding his head, Paul said. "Well, I, for one, am glad you are here today."

He began to part company as they approached the doors to the waiting room, but he stopped and turned back to her. "Say... your son, the one in the accident, how is he now?"

If Paul Blaisdell could have retracted his question in the instant her lovely expression transformed into a quiet, aching grief, he would have done so immediately.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she bravely whispered, "He... he didn't make it. The good Lord called him home again, but not without allowing him to give the gift of life to seven others through organ donation. My son's still living in others... and in here." She pointed to her heart before stepping closer to reach Paul through his reaction to her words.

"There was just something about you and your extended family that brought everything back to me in a way that hasn't happened for a very long time. Guess it kind of threw me off-track... I'm sorry about that."

Suddenly inspired, she reached forward and gave him a quick hug before whispering in his ear, "What will be will be. Just be strong for yourself and others. Things happen for a reason. This Peter seems so well loved, I'm sure God has more plans in store for him."

Then she walked away, leaving Paul standing in the hallway, completely blown away. The woman had faced his greatest fear, losing a son. It seemed to make the possibility of losing Peter much more real.

Then there was her whispered message, echoing Caine's earlier sentiment. Things happen for a reason. Well, there sure as hell better be a damned good reason for this nightmare, he thought before he gathered himself and walked in to tell the others they had to leave. 

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul, Annie, Caine, Kermit, and Lo Si were directed to a small conference room near the surgical waiting room. Kermit lingered at the back of the entourage as an old habit of watching the backs of his friends resurfaced.

Scanning the hallway, he didn't see any dangerous types wandering around. _'Damn, what I wouldn't give for a bad guy to pummel right now.' _

The waiting room had been a zoo as predicted with a mob of people waiting to hear about the condition of their loved ones from the multi-car accident and Kermit was glad to be out of it. They were currently following a trio of doctors who wanted to speak to them.

As they walked, Paul's quietly whispered words from earlier kept running through Kermit's thoughts. How they'd almost lost Peter twice during the surgery._ Maybe these doctors are just here to cover their asses_, he thought angrily.

Kermit sighed. It seemed like everything gave fuel to his anger since Peter's disappearance. He remained at the rear wall of the office while the others found empty chairs, though Paul and Caine opted to stay on their feet. He watched the physicians, taking quiet note of their serious and reserved demeanor.

_'Ah, hell, this is going to be bad,'_ he told himself as the lead surgeon began to speak.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Schlosser. I thought a little privacy might work better given the madhouse out there in the waiting room. We don't have a lot of time to talk because we'll be back in surgery again as soon as we finish here, but there are several topics we need to cover quickly."

He glanced to his right and gestured. "This is Doctor Ward, one of the top vascular surgeons in the area. And Doctor DeSalles, a well-known orthopedic surgeon. I understand Peter usually sees Doctor Campbell, but he's vacationing in Europe right now. Doctor DeSalles is very good as you'll soon see."

Paul cleared his throat with a hand resting atop Annie's shoulder. "Gentlemen, I appreciate your time, but you're in a hurry, so let's get right to it. How is Peter?"

Doctor Schlosser locked onto Paul's direct gaze and stated quietly, "He's fighting for his life."

Leaning back on the edge of a large table, he continued, "The next few days will be the true test for him. I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. He coded twice during surgery. Yes, he has his youth and physical condition working in his favor, but he was also badly beaten. Repeatedly. Any one of his injuries alone would be serious. Together, they are life-threatening."

Schlosser paused for a moment and Kermit watched the group grasp the ramifications of his announcement. Kermit hadn't moved a muscle as he reclined against a wall-to-ceiling bookcase filled with reference books, most of them at least three inches thick.

In fact, he barely seemed to breathe, so still was his body. It was the same inside of him. He kept his emotions at bay by dropping into an analytical mode, one of observation and deductions, one without troubling feelings, and one that had kept him alive on more than one occasion.

While Doctor Schlosser spoke, Doctor DeSalles seemed to be preparing himself to be next while Doctor Ward, a small mouse of a man, stood in the background absently brushing his fingers against his bar handle mustache. None of the men representing Peter's medical experts held the briefest hint of a smile and appeared to be greatly fatigued after the long surgery, which had lasted most of the afternoon and late into the evening.

"The most life-threatening of Peter's injuries you know about. The blood loss due to internal bleeding had to be stopped or else we were going to lose him. It turns out it was much easier said that done. Without going into too much technical detail, one of Peter's broken ribs lacerated his liver causing the blood loss.

"We removed the lacerated section of his liver and packed it off to stop the bleeding. Now, we will have to go back in to remove the packing and will probably do that at the same time Doctor DeSalles is working on Peter's arm.

"His breathing difficulties were another hurdle for us to deal with. One of his four broken ribs punctured his right lung, so when we went in, we had quite a mess to clean up. The extreme blood loss and fever made his heart rate difficult to manage.

"He's been stabilized in Recovery and should be moved to ICU in the next hour or two, but he's got a fever almost as stubborn as he is. We tried to hydrate him as much as possible, but days of dehydration, starvation, and abuse are difficult to reverse in only a few hours."

Schlosser sighed, his fatigue gaining on him rapidly. "Before you ask any questions, I'd like for you to hear from my associates. Their explanations may fill in any blanks I've left open. Joe?"

He turned to the orthopedic surgeon, Doctor DeSalles. "Hi, Doctor Schlosser caught me coming out of another surgery. I've had time to look at Peter's x-rays, examine his arm and even did some quick repair work while Doctor Schlosser and Doctor Ward were finishing up on their work. It's going to be a tricky surgery, but I believe we should be able to return him to full function with the arm.

"He was lucky. For a compound fracture so severe, it could have turned out much differently, but the location of the break worked to his advantage. The corrective surgery won't happen until he's a little stronger, but by the looks of things, I believe he should be fine in a few months."

Kermit watched the others drinking up every word that was being said to them, but Kermit wasn't buying it.

_These jokers should go on the road,_ Kermit thought disdainfully._ Curly, Moe and Larry. The Three Stooges. And now, it's Larry's turn. _

Doctor DeSalles didn't say anything, only stepped back and the last remaining physician stepped in. "Hi, I'm Doctor Ward, a vascular surgeon as Doctor Schlosser mentioned. My job is to make sure the injured areas are getting proper blood flow. Peter definitely had need of my services. I think we solved most of his more serious issues. I made sure the blood perfusion there would be okay until we can go back in to do what needs to be done. Peter's a strong man, and if we can bring his fever down, while allowing everything else to continue to heal, he should be all right."

_Bullshit!_ Kermit thought. He'd had enough of that medical rigmarole and bolted from his resting spot, leaving the room without a word. He raced to the end of the hallway and stopped, not sure where he was running to... or even why.

He was still angry, still fuming over what had happened to Peter, still bitter about circumstances beyond his control. His hands were in tight fists and he just wanted to punch the life out of something, but unfortunately, Richie Petry wasn't in the area.

Kermit jumped violently when he heard someone clearing their throat directly behind him. Spinning around, he found Lo Si standing there, as calmly as if he was waiting for his turn in line at the grocery store or the movies, and not waiting to speak to a former mercenary who was ready to kill the next thing that bugged him.

"You know, Kermit, I am a very old man," Lo Si began.

"Don't talk to me right now, Lo Si! It's for your own good," he said, fully intending on walking away.

"It is because I am very old and not afraid of death that I am able to say these things to you without fear."

"Damn it to hell, Lo Si! What do I have to do? Knock you to the ground?"

"No. Simply listen."

"To what?"

"To the words you need to hear."

"All I know is that if you hadn't thrown off my shot, I would have rid the world of... "

Kermit moved his face right up to Lo Si's and was nearly shouting to the Ancient's steady and soft spoken tone.

Lo Si bowed slightly. "Did you know most anger is based in fear?"

"...rid the world of – of a menace... what the hell did you just say?"

"I said, did you know most anger is based in fear?"

"And that means?"

"You must address your fear of losing those you love. By accepting it, you will free –"

"Go to hell!" Kermit shouted and spun on his heels to leave.

A small, but powerful hand gripped Kermit's arm. He tried to jerk free, but found he could not. He turned to yell again, but found himself silent as Lo Si's gaze bore right into his soul.

"A body tortured is a terrible travesty, my friend, but a spirit tortured is infinitely worse. You know this to be true for you have spent time in such a wasteland yourself. Your spirit was in pain for a long while and finally it is healing.

"We must all be as strong as we can be for what is ahead. Peter's spirit is badly damaged. Only the love of his friends and family can help him heal. It will not be easy. He will fight against that which he needs most. Does this sound familiar to you, Detective Griffin?"

Kermit froze in place rather than storming away as he had wanted to do. Something inside of him knew Lo Si was telling him the truth, so he wasn't staying because he wanted to per se, but more for Peter's sake. At least, that was what he told himself.

Nodding curtly, Kermit sighed in a brief display of acceptance. That was it. Once he decided he was going to help Peter, fighting with Lo Si seemed very unimportant.

"Tell me what we need to do... what _I_ need to do to help Peter," Kermit asked so quietly that he wasn't sure if Lo Si could hear him.

A sad, tired smile widened upon Lo Si's face as he replied, "Do just as you are doing right now. Listening, learning, opening yourself to what needs to be done, even if it scares you a bit."

"Who said it scared me," Kermit started as the Ancient patted him on the shoulder. He raised a pointed finger. "And don't ever do that in public again or I'll be forced to be _very_ disrespectful."

"Bloody marvelous!" Lo Si uttered with a contagious chuckle before turning back to rejoin the others.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"NO! Not Camryn!" Peter's raspy shriek in the dead of night jolted Annie wide awake and she was moving before she realized what was happening. All she knew was that her son was in pain and needed her.

She had fallen asleep at his side, her head resting upon the mattress. As he screamed in his feverish nightmare, his left hand went out, striking at some dream-induced phantasm. Unfortunately, instead of hitting his target, Peter's fist collided with Annie's right cheekbone, knocking her glasses from her face and almost toppling her in the process.

"No, Richie, please stop. No, don't hurt her! Please don't hurt her because of me. We were friends once. No! Don't kill her again!"

His pleading words were shouted, but his voice was so hoarse, they were more like indistinguishable squeaks somewhere emitted from deep within his tormented heart.

The area where Peter's fist had hit Annie's cheek stung fiercely with one eye already beginning to swell in protest. Though stunned, Annie ignored the pain and never faltered, never hesitated in reaching Peter to calm his troubled spirit once again. "Peter! I'm here. Peter, can you hear me?"

Peter's eyes narrowed as soon as they opened, because the dim light from the hospital hallway still too bright for him. He gasped for air and was sweaty from his exertion. He shook his head slightly as if to shake away the cobwebs from his dream.

"Mom?" he asked, still slightly confused.

Just as he had done as a young teen waking from a nightmare, he struggled to separate dreams from reality, especially in his feverish state.

When Annie took his hand, it seemed to complete the process to wakefulness. Gratefully, he pulled their clasped hands gently to his heart... almost as if her hand there would slow its pounding or ease his fears. Then he fell back against his pillow, exhausted.

Her own heart trembled at the delicate reverence with which he caressed her hand, as if he had once thought he was never going to see her again, or if his grip on her loosened too much, he would lose her forever.

_Just what have you been through, Peter? Haven't you already known enough pain to last a lifetime? Oh my dear son, what have you been through?_

She brushed her free hand against his cheek, trying to mask her reaction, trying to keep her fears and concerns from her expression when all she wanted to do was sob.

She remembered overhearing Paul and Mary Margaret talking in the ICU waiting room, following Peter's second surgery that morning.

Though Peter's fever hadn't broken yet, the doctors had been afraid to wait any longer on the surgery to repair his broken arm and to remove the liver packing material.

Thinking about Peter's weakened state again, she realized how warm Peter's skin was, along with his labored breathing, and her concern for him loomed larger still, swelling until it nearly burst her heart wide open.

Her fingers fluttered down his face, casually making sure his oxygen was still in place. Peter was having such trouble breathing, even with oxygen. That wasn't good and her fears ratcheted up another notch.

"Peter, do you know where you are?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, Mercy General, ICU by the looks of it," he answered weakly.

"That's right, son." She smiled. It was such a little thing, but it suddenly seemed like such a great milestone to her right then that he was coherent again.

But emotion clutched at her heart when Peter pressed his face against her fingers at his cheek and sighed so deeply, she knew he was fighting tears.

"Peter, talk to me," she requested quietly, but with a mother's tone of authority.

"I was... I was beginning to think I wasn't gonna make it back to you alive," he whispered, his face still pressing against her hand, then he brought her other hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. That was when she noticed the sensation of moisture on the back of her fingers he'd kept against his lips and she knew for certain he was crying.

"You almost didn't, Peter, but I thank God that you did. You're still very sick. You need to rest."

"No, Mom. I need you. Here. Doing what you do best. Playing mother hen to one of her lost chicks." She tightened the grip she had on his fingers and leaned down to place a kiss of her own on his forehead as his words touched her heart – both lifting her spirit and breaking it with the intensity of his love and need.

"I'm always here, Peter. You know that," she replied softly.

"Yes, you're the eighth wonder of the world as far as I'm concerned," he said, still caressing her hand, as if needing the contact more than anything else in the world.

He grew quiet and Annie's antennae went up. "Talk to me, Peter. Tell me what happened."

"I thought I was supposed to rest," he said with a slight obstinance in his voice and a bone-weary fatigue.

"Yes, but you never do what you are supposed to, so you might as well tell me what's going on. You know you will eventually anyway."

She'd said her rebuke in a knowing tone so entrenched in fact, it left Peter little room to wiggle off the hook she'd just caught him with.

"How's Jody?" he asked after clearing his throat and she smiled a slight smile, knowing he was changing the subject like a pro, though he was asking a question he had every right to ask.

It was the timing and the forced strength in his voice which told her so much about her son's current emotional status.

"She's fine, honey. She's here at the hospital, too, but she should be going home soon. I visited her earlier today while they were moving you back to ICU. Her mother, Mary Margaret and Blake were also there. Her shoulder and concussion are much better, but she's still very weak. I hear her room was filled to the brim with flowers, cards, and balloons – just like yours."

"And... Richie?"

In listening to him, Annie knew it cost Peter a great deal in energy to even ask the question.

"He can't hurt you or Jody any more. He's been sent to a top security psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. He's a very long way from here. Peter, they think he's lost most of the intelligence he gained and he's almost back to the old Richie again. But then again, not. He's got so much wreckage to deal with now. Paul says that he'll never see the light of day again."

Even though Annie was without sight, she was not without insight. She could tell by Peter's body language that he'd gone rigid with tension, not satisfied that any of them were safe, yet accepting of the information as truthful because of who was giving it to him.

Then he let go of the subject matter as his own health took top priority again. He shivered forcefully and stammered, "S-so cold."

"I know, Peter. You're running a high fever. Do you remember being awake this afternoon when the doctor was here explaining how you were doing?"

Again, Peter's sudden tenseness told her everything and she could feel him shaking his head. She didn't smile this time, intuitively knowing what that body movement meant, not wanting to draw attention to Peter's nonverbal reply to her question.

When Peter realized what he had done, he said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I meant to say no, I don't remember –"

"Shhhh. Peter, don't worry about it. You've been through a lot. They are trying to bring down the fever with antibiotics and other medication. Do you want another blanket?"

Peter remained tense as he sought his memories. "No, Mom, that's okay. I'm fine for the moment. So, what day is it?"

Annie swallowed and said softly, "It's Tuesday, April 3rd, honey."

"But – but I went to Richie's on the 28th, I think," he stammered in frightened confusion.

"Yes, that's when you disappeared. It took until Sunday, the 1st, to find where he was hiding you. You were in surgery most of that day... and you've been very sick since then. Almost twenty-four hours ago, they went in and did the surgery on your broken arm, repairing what needed to be done. They were afraid to wait any longer, afraid of long-term damage. But you went through both surgeries like the trooper we know you to be."

"I-I don't remember."

"Don't worry about it. Not much to remember," she lied as she knew the memories of the past few days would be indelibly etched into her heart and mind for the rest of her days. "You're still shivering, Peter. Let me call for another blanket for you."

"Maybe in a minute," he whispered as his head dropped back to the bed, all his strength seemed to have drained away in the last few moments. He moved the wrong way, then squeezed her hand in a painful grip as he rode out the wave of misery it caused.

"I'm calling for the nurse," she said in a rush.

"No, it's okay. Pain is only... bad if you let it be," he said, as if trying to convince himself if he said it enough, he'd believe it to be true.

"That's one saying of your father's that's just plain bull! There's no need to suffer," she said angrily, not wanting Peter lie in pain for another minute. He'd had days of suffering and almost died as a result of it.

Something in Peter's tone caught her attention and she backed off a bit. "There is... if the pain allows me to stay... alert enough to appreciate you... and your sweet love."

Annie found herself chuckling despite her worried state.

"Always the charmer, aren't you? Well, mister, you can appreciate me for about two more minutes, and then I'm calling the nurse. No debate on that one," she said in her best no-nonsense voice.

"It's – it's a deal." He squeezed her hand with a powerful grip again before relaxing. She brought her lips to rest against his forehead and just stayed there for a very long moment as she appreciated the gift of hearing him breathe in and out in a steady rhythm. Grateful to be able to feel his love. Grateful just to have him alive.

Kissing him again, she squeezed her eyes tight as she realized how warm he was. "Peter, I love you so. If I haven't said that recently – "

"Come on, Mom, you tell me that _every_ time you see me," he whispered as he brought his good hand up behind her shoulder and held her close to him again.

"I don't say it nearly enough, Peter...not with almost losing you. Not nearly enough."

"You think I don't know how loved I am? Geez, I'd have to be brain-dead not to know that. Or not to know how lucky I am to have you and Paul. I can never repay what you two did for me."

"Silly boy, you've repaid us a thousand times over," she whispered back, rapidly losing her battle against her tears.

"Okay, sorry to break up this mother/son moment, but it's time for Peter to have his vitals checked."

A male nurse startled them as he briskly entered the room.

Annie recognized him by his voice and smiled.

"Hello, Jim," she said simply as she pulled away and noticed how slowly Peter was to let go of her hand.

_He must really be rattled to hold on like that..._ she thought with sudden worry.

"Hello, Mrs. Blaisdell. I see our favorite patient is back for a repeat visit. Close your eyes, Peter, I have to turn on the lights," Jim said as he set down Peter's chart, then hit the light switch and moved to begin taking Peter's vital signs.

With the sudden light, she felt Peter's grip tighten and knew it caused him pain. She stepped back, but never released Peter's tight grasp of her hand.

"Oh, what's this? Are these yours, Mrs. Blaisdell?" Jim asked as he stooped to the floor and retrieved her dark glasses.

Remembering the earlier encounter with Peter's flailing arms, she released Peter's hand and reached out to take the glasses from him before Peter was made aware of what had happened.

"Oh, yes, Jim. Thank you so much. I dropped them and couldn't find them," she said with a bit too much force casualness.

"Say, that's a nasty red spot on your cheek," he said, the caretaker in him taking over before he realized Annie's rigid stance.

Peter inhaled sharply and Annie deduced he saw the darkening bruise on her cheek.

"Oh, I did that when I bent down to look for my glasses," Annie continued the lie, but suspected no one in the room believed her.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Blaisdell?" Jim asked, lightly touching the slightly swollen area.

"Yes, I'm fine, but check Peter. He seems awfully warm," she said with concern, hoping to shift the focus of conversation from her to Peter.

"Mom? Did I do something to you when I was waking up from that dream?" Peter asked with worry and more than a little bit of angry self-reproach.

"Honey... "

"Shit!" Peter exclaimed with sudden animation, then he grimaced and hugged his broken arm to his ribs, his pain no longer under control. It was now a palpable, living thing encompassing the room and its occupants.

"Let's just calm down a bit, Peter," Jim said, sounding regretful that he even mentioned Annie's cheek. "It almost time for your pain meds. I'll be right back with it, then we can do the vitals."

Jim strode from the room, leaving Annie to comfort Peter until his return.

"God, I hurt everyone around me!" Peter rasped hoarsely.

"No, Peter."

"Leave! Just leave me before I hurt you again," Peter said, his voice tight with pain and guilt.

"I'm _not_ leaving, so just button it up right there!" Annie said with more force than intended. "You did _not_ hurt me! At least, not as much as it just was hearing you tell me to leave when all I want to do is hold you."

Annie heard a ragged sob come from Peter's direction and she took that as her cue to reach forward for him. He met her hand halfway and she bent down to hold him against her.

They were still in that silent embrace when Jim returned with Peter's pain medication, not realizing that they'd just given each other the best type of medicine ever known... love.

**oOoOoOoOo**

It was about three in the morning, nearly two days later when Paul wandered in to check on Peter and wasn't at all surprised to find Caine still sitting where he had left him earlier in the evening. Winning at the obstinance game, Paul had taken Annie home after she almost collapsed from exhaustion. Caine had promised to stay with Peter while he was gone.

Moving silently, Paul walked up to Peter's other side and repeated a gesture Annie had done numerous times since this hospital vigil had begun. Bringing the back of his hand to Peter's forehead, he brushed against it with the lightest of touches. Just enough for him to ascertain if Peter was still running a temperature without awakening him or Caine.

Peter's fever was still out of control. Paul drew his lower lip against the back of his upper teeth as a way of expressing his disappointment. He pulled his hand back and lowered it to rest lightly on sleeping man's shoulder.

_Damn! He's still feverish despite the cooling blanket and the countless drugs they've been feeding him... What's it going to take to break this blasted thing?_

Paul's eyes were now adjusted to the meager light coming in from the open doorway, and he could see from Peter's ruddy complexion, chapped lips, and dry skin his son's fever was still much too high. Peter was apparently dreaming, his lips moving as if talking and his muscles were moving in that dreamlike manner of the sleeping.

Paul shuddered as he recalled Kelly's reaction to Peter's appearance after finishing her midterms. She was already tired from studying and then there was the hospital vigil.

The poor girl was so badly shaken, he nearly carried her out of the room when they left. Maybe it would have been better if Peter had been awake during her visit. Then again, maybe not. There was no way to mask Peter's horrific bruises adorning most of his body, which scared the bejeebers out of him, not to mention poor Kelly.

Only Annie's caring way had settled Kelly's nerves enough to stop crying.

_Where would I be without that woman? Or the girls for that matter? Or Peter? They are all such a part of me... without them, I'd be less than whole. Less than me. May I never have to know what life would be like without any of them. _

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he recognized the familiar smell of hospitals. It wasn't the nasty odor of urine or feces. No, he could handle that. It was the scent of alcohol. And bandages. And adhesive tape. And all the other inherent odors associated with the treatment of a person recovering from surgery or a serious condition. It was the scent of disease and pain. And potentially, it held the scent of death.

Suddenly, Paul decided to leave, chiding himself for leaving Annie alone in the middle of the night, coming all that way to reassure himself that Peter would be all right, as if his very presence would make a difference right then in Peter's recovery.

Shaking his head at his foolishness, Paul started to pull away when Peter screamed out in a feverish nightmare.

"No! Richie, don't! Don't kill anymore! Don't!"

One of Peter's hands was up in the air, wildly striking at an ephemeral villain. Quickly, Paul moved out of the way. Annie still bore the bruise from not dodging one of Peter's more animated nightmares.

Paul knew Peter had been told that Richie was far away from them, locked up under maximum security at a psychiatric hospital, one experienced in dealing with the criminally insane, but apparently, that fact refused to reach all the way into Peter's continual nightmares.

_That damned fever doesn't help the nightmares one little bit,_ Paul thought in futile frustration.

He took hold of Peter's hand, surprised at the strength present there for a man hovering at death's door for days. Suddenly, Caine was at Peter's other side, his hands on both of Peter's cheeks in a firm but gentle caress as he whispered to him. Paul couldn't make out the exact words, but apparently Peter could, because his agitation settled right down and he fell back into a troubled sleep.

Paul relaxed, then noticed Caine's wobbly state and swept around to the other side of the bed to catch him before he collapsed to the floor.

"Here. I've got you," Paul said as he eased Kwai Chang back into his seat.

"You look like hell," Paul said as he reached for Peter's bedside tray and poured Caine some water to drink.

"I... am fine," Caine said slowly.

"No, you aren't. You've been pushing yourself hard for days, ever since you were traveling up north. I forced Annie to go home earlier because she needed rest. The same goes for you, too."

He leaned closer and locked onto Caine's exhausted gaze.

"Now, Peter is going to recover from this. When he does, he'll need you, I mean, he'll_ really _need you to be there for him. You won't be doing him one bit of good from your own hospital bed. Or from the grave for that matter, so get your act together and get out of here. I'll stay the rest of the night with him. You go home and get some sleep. Don't come back until you do."

Paul was angry, not really at Caine as such, but very angry. It showed in his words and in his demeanor. He cleared his throat and picked up the phone and punched in a phone number.

"Hello, is this Harry Blanca? Good, I thought so. It's Paul Blaisdell. Yes, from the 101st. Say, I'd like to order a cab to come to the entrance of Mercy General in about ten minutes. There will be a man in tan jacket and fedora with a leather pouch over his shoulder. Call my office in the morning and give them the amount and I'll take care of it. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

He paused, pursing his lips together as he listened to the party on the other end of the telephone line. "No, Peter is still in ICU, but thanks for asking. I really appreciate this, Harry. Good night."

Preparing for an argument, he was surprised to turn and find none at all. Caine was putting on his hat and stood very slowly.

"I'm sorry, Caine. I don't mean to drive you off."

"No, you were quite right. Only a friend would say it in such a way to get my attention. I shall go and rest. I will be here for Peter tomorrow when he needs me. And I will be better prepared to give him that help."

"Has there been any change? I mean, I know the fever is still there, but... "

"It is not just his body that burns with fever, but his heart and soul, too. Something in this experience has struck our son at the core of his being. He is lashing out at everything... the good and the bad. Until he has addressed that issue, he will continue to burn."

Stepping closer, Paul touched Caine's arm and asked in a confused tone, "Are – are you talking about his fever?"

"No. The fever will pass. It is the illness of his spirit I worry about."

"What can we do to help that?"

"We will be there when he needs us. Just as we always have been. I will rest tonight. You rest in the morning. Together, we will see him through this."

"Damn Richie Petry for putting Peter through this shit!" Paul said bitterly, frustrated at not being able to do more to help Peter.

"I believe Richie was very nearly damned. The accident that brought about his transformation had him on a most destructive path. Is it not amazing how Richie could survive everything that he did? Especially the surge of electricity, which was enough to kill a hundred men."

"Luck of the devil, if you ask me," Paul said, glancing back towards Peter's bed before feeling the penetrating gaze of Kwai Chang Caine focused entirely on him.

"You... still feel responsible for Peter's current situation?" Caine asked quietly.

"What kind of a question is that?" Paul responded gruffly, looking to his watch. "The cab should be along any minute. You shouldn't keep them waiting."

He started to usher Caine down the hallway towards the elevator when the Shaolin priest stopped him.

"Eppy's Rule Number Seventeen..?" Caine began, looking at Paul whose head jerked up with the unexpected mentioning of Peter's old partner, Michael Patrick Epstein. "Always remember you are more important than a dirty, old rug."

Paul chuckled, shaking his head and finished the quote. "...because a dirty, old rug always comes out ahead from a beating, looking like a million bucks. You and I," Paul recited the saying with a picture perfect imitation of Eppy, "we humans _never_ fare as well."

He laughed and put his hand on Caine's shoulder, "You've been listening to Peter tell too many of Eppy's rules again."

"The man has a philosopher's heart," Caine said simply.

"He's something else, I'll grant you that," Paul chuckled. "Listen, I'll deal with my guilt in Peter's situation, if you will deal with yours."

Caine placed a tired hand over Paul's and said simply, "I believe we have already started." Then he smiled and pressed the elevator button.

Paul stared at him in awe for another moment before nodding. He walked away when the doors opened up and took Caine away.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Paul wandered into Jody's room, catching her by surprise as she came out of the bathroom, guiding her IV stand along with one hand while the other arm hung in a sling.

"Isn't a nurse still supposed to help with you walk around at this point?" Paul asked as he went to her side, not saying anything about her pale, but bruised face.

"I just had to pee, I wasn't entering a marathon," Jody said with a tired voice, irritated at being caught breaking the rules in front of her boss.

"Powell, are _all_ of my detectives as headstrong as you and Peter?" Paul complained as he tried to usher her back to bed, but she shook her head and gestured towards a chair by the window.

"I thought it was a job requirement." Though she teased him, there was no hint of levity in her weary eyes.

After he got her situated in the chair, he sat on the edge of her bed and gave her closer scrutiny.

The young woman's normally sparkling features were now drawn and tense. There was little of her usual vitality remaining as she stared out the window. Her facial bruising had darkened since he saw her last and she seemed so fragile.

Not happy by what he saw, Paul chewed on his lip for a second and asked, "Are you sure you shouldn't be in bed, instead of trying to put up a brave front for your captain's sake?"

Jody started to argue with him when she grimaced in pain, and then cursed under her breath.

"Jody, a dislocated shoulder is nothing to discount and that's just one of your injuries," he said as he stood and moved to her side to help her back into bed.

"Why are you here instead of with Peter?" she asked, turning the attention back to Paul as she ignored both him and his question until after the worst of her pain had subsided.

"Please, just a minute in the sun," she asked, pointing to the large window beside her. "I'm so tired of being in bed."

Paul saw that Jody wasn't budging from the chair, so he nodded and moved to the window. He, too, enjoyed the warmth of the sun against his back. "Okay, for a minute. And to answer your question, it's rather crowded in ICU right now, even in the waiting room. Annie is in with Peter now while his sisters are in the waiting room keeping Caine company."

"So that's why you're here?"

Paul's blue eyes caught hers for the briefest of moments before darting away. "Yeah, there's plenty of people there, so I thought I'd check on you. I haven't seen you today. I heard you had quite a party going on in here earlier."

"Yeah, right." Jody smiled derisively.

"Well, it's certainly festive in here," Paul said, looking around the room at all of the flowers and balloons. "Where is your mother now?"

"Mom was here, but I sent her home because she was driving me nuts. You have no idea what it's like to have a hoverer for a mother."

"A hoverer?"

"You know, one who hovers..." She went to shrug and suddenly bent forward trying to ride out the wave of misery caused by the simple gesture. Paul didn't say a word, just went to her side and reached out to help her up.

"I'll help you back into bed as long as you don't call me a hoverer, too. Good Lord, don't give Peter any ideas on that subject," Paul said with a teasing smile on his lips, but it was worry in his heart that compelled him to stay with her.

Jody didn't say anything either, just slowly stood and shuffled back towards her bed with Paul's assistance. Her head sank back against her pillow and she squeezed her eyes shut as she got settled.

Paul spoke to her quietly, respectful of her pain. "I think you tried to do too much just now. And you really shouldn't be alone a lot at this particular time, all things considered. You've been through a traumatic event."

Sighing deeply, she replied without opening her eyes, "Not really. Peter's the one who's been traumatized. I'm just a little bruised."

She glanced up at him and asked, "How... how is he?"

It was Paul's turn to sigh. He walked down to the end of the bed, gathering the facts as he knew them. He lingered there at the end of the bed, stalling long enough to put the facts in order.

"Not good... Peter's fever really has the doctors baffled. They were hoping by doing the second surgery to repair his broken arm and to remove the liver packing that would alleviate the fever, but it didn't, because there was no infection present in those sites. Until whatever is causing the fever is resolved, his situation will continue to be very precarious."

"Captain, I-I don't know how..." Jody stammered with sudden dismay; something was obviously heavy on her heart.

"What is it, Jody?" Paul asked as he faced her fully.

"It's just that I'm so sorry I didn't follow procedure when I left the precinct to go to Peter on Sunday. If I had, he might not be so..."

"Listen, I'll have none of that. What's happened has happened. I've been carrying around guilt for days, so has Caine. It doesn't help a damned thing and in your condition, it might slow down your recovery, so just drop it."

"Tell that to Peter if he survives! He did the impossible to keep me from being raped or killed or both – and – and I couldn't do a thing to save him. It's not guilt. It's the facts! The plain, simple, and ugly truth!" Jody snapped back, trying not to grimace when her abrupt movement caught her sore shoulder unexpectedly.

Paul stopped and studied her for a moment, deciding not to listen to her logic, but her heart. She was in pain and it wasn't just physical. "Jody, it's not your fault."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she shook her head without looking at him. "Richie was so special... before everything happened. I just never imagined... never thought him capable of such cruelty. Those horrible things he did to Peter. It was awful! And I just let Richie trap me like some new recruit fresh out of the academy. No, it was worse than a rookie move! Because _I knew better_! Damn it! I knew better."

She dissolved in a storm of tears and Paul went to her. Afraid to hurt her shoulder with an embrace, he took one of her hands in his while cupping her chin with the other. "Detective Jody Powell, you better listen to this, because I'm not going to say it again. You had no idea what you were walking into. Richie had gone through a tremendous transformation in those days you were gone. His brutality to Peter had begun days before you returned home. You weren't even there when he kidnapped Peter. You can't claim responsibility for that.

"I know, but..."

"No buts. Just be glad things worked out the way they did and leave it at that. You carry this around inside of you and you'll have ulcers before you know it. Let go of it and heal. You're alive. Peter's alive. Leave it at that."

"Sure, I'm alive, Captain, but what if Peter... what if..?" Jody was trying to ask a question that caused her more pain than her shoulder ever could.

Paul placed a finger over her lips and shushed her quietly. "Peter's not going to die. I won't let him. He's got too much work left on his desk to do."

That thought brought a slight smile to her trembling lips.

"After we brought you and Peter into the hospital on Sunday, I had people telling me over and over in different ways, things happen for a reason. I fought the idea at first, but maybe there's some hidden reason for all of this that we just can't see yet. All I know is we have to hang onto the hope that everyone will come out of this okay."

Jody nodded again, then locked onto Blaisdell's gaze. "Please go be with him for me."

Paul frowned, then sighed.

"Wh-what is it, Captain?"

Paul rubbed his hand across his face, started to speak, then walked towards the window and leaned against its frame.

"Captain?"

He gave a self-depreciating laugh but his eyes never left the view from the window. "I'm a good one to give speeches, but not so good at following them, don't you think?"

He drew himself up to his full height, but still was unable to meet Jody's gaze.

"What? Is Peter worse than you just mentioned?"

Hearing the sudden fear and concern in Jody's voice made him turn and stride back to the bed. He put up his hands to dismiss off her concern.

"No, no, it's not that at all. I told you the truth as I know it. It's just... my father died of a lengthy illness when I was about Peter's age. He spent months, in fact, on death's door. Just waiting to die. I spent so much time in that hospital, I swore I'd never camp out at one again."

"Then Peter came along."

"Yes, Peter came along and I can't quite seem to be able to stay out of them." They both laughed at that thought, then their smiles turned sad.

"I'm sorry to hear about that, Captain. I don't think I've ever heard you mention your father before."

"He was a fine man, but when he got sick..."

"I know, it's hard."

"Yes. The waiting most of all."

Paul paced a bit.

"Actually, I don't think I've ever shared that with anyone from the precinct before. Why, I don't know. It's a ridiculous thing really when you stop and think about it. Sooner or later, someone you know will wind up in the hospital."

Jody's expression turned very serious and she said, "Actually, knowing that makes me respect you all the more – how you can wait inside these rooms without going crazy."

Paul's lip pursed together for a moment before he replied, "You're a very special young lady, do you know that?" He took her hand in his and squeezed before releasing it. "But you are right about one thing. It is time to go back to Peter. Thanks for giving me a place to visit."

Jody smiled. "Come back anytime you need to, Captain. Anytime."

Paul was slowly heading towards the door. "Thanks, I might take you up on that."

"Anytime," he heard as he entered the hallway.

He didn't rush back to ICU. Instead, he took his time as he considered the people he worked with. Some people in the department were idiots, some were assholes, but mostly, they were people of the highest integrity and commitment – and he considered himself fortunate to know them.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter opened his eyes to the early morning sunlight and realized he was in a different hospital room from the one he'd been in. Slightly disoriented and unable to remember why everything looked so different, he stared at his surroundings without moving.

The number of monitors and devices attached to his body had been halved while he slept. He still had the IV line and some of the standard paraphernalia normally seen following surgery, but nothing compared to what he once had. Then it clicked, he wasn't in ICU any longer.

That had to be a positive sign, he thought as he sighed in relief, then cringed in pain.

It seemed like every inch of his body hurt. Even the meager sunlight streaming in through the window blinds was too bright to tolerate. His mouth was so dry, it felt like the concept of saliva had been voted down by his body's ruling committee days before and he'd never received the memo.

Even trying to raise his head from his pillow was more than he could handle right then. The strange thing was, for the first time since he'd been in the hospital, he was hungry. Starving, in fact.

Curiosity urged him to continue to assess his condition. While he was in pain, he wasn't trembling from its intensity. No longer was his head throbbing so badly that it hurt just to breathe. He wasn't too cold or too hot. He still felt like crap, but he was considerably better than before.

His fever must have broken. It was the only explanation he could think of – and that explained the change in rooms. There must have been a corresponding change in medical status, downgraded when that damned fever finally decided to leave him.

He sighed with relief and instantly regretted it as his non-fever-related injuries reasserted themselves. Peter cursed under his breath and wrapped his left arm around his casted right arm and painful chest/abdomen area.

"Well, that was a totally stupid move," came a quietly uttered voice from the corner.

Peter recognized Kermit's voice immediately. As he cracked his eyes open for confirmation, he saw Kermit step out of the shadows. Peter went to speak but the dryness of his throat hindered speech. Kermit poured him some water, which Peter gratefully consumed.

He rasped, "Kermit, so kind of you to visit with the dawn. I thought most vampires were in their coffins by this time."

"Cute. Haven't been to bed yet. Been cleaning up some of your loose ends left pending on your desk and also playing online." He pointed to his laptop sitting on another chair, transforming it into a makeshift desk.

"Gee, thanks. Awfully big of you."

"So, aside from having a few owies, how do you feel?"

Peter smiled again at Kermit's downplay of his injuries. Knowing Kermit had probably spent most of his free time hanging around the hospital while Peter was in ICU made the smug way Kermit tossed out the question even more Kermit-like.

"Great, just great. Planning on entering a triathlon tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, I can see you'd be up for that."

Kermit came to stand beside the bed and stood silent for a moment. "You had us pretty worried, kiddo. When your fever broke yesterday, Annie was so happy, I thought we'd have to sedate to calm her down. That's when I sent the Blaisdells and your father home and told them I'd take over for a while."

"Geez, Kermit, you make it sound like I'm eight years old again and in need of a babysitter."

"Hey, you would have turned out a lot different if I'd been your babysitter."

"Now, there's a scary thought – although, you did have a profound effect on my teenage years when you started hanging around the house. Both as a cop and as a friend."

"As a friend, huh? Never had a lot of those in my life...but the ones I have made are the best." He paused for a moment.

Peter tensed and squeezed his eyes shut.

When he spoke, his voice was filled with rage. "Yeah, well, maybe if I'd listened to you better, I wouldn't be lying here in a hospital. And maybe we would have caught onto Richie earlier. And maybe there'd be a couple of dozen people still walking around alive instead of dead!"

"Peter."

"No, Kermit, damn it, don't try to make me feel better. I screwed up big time on this one." His voice cracked from hoarseness and emotion.

"You weren't the only one, kid."

"Look, I know you're trying to be a friend and all, but–"

"Hell, I told you I wasn't very good at the friend thing. Here's a perfect example of why. You see, I wasn't being a friend to you at all. A friend wouldn't have let Richie live after all the shit he put you through. A friend wouldn't have allowed an old man to throw off his shot and then be talked out of any more attempts. A friend–"

Peter reached out with one hand, breaking off the remainder of Kermit's comment. "Wait a minute. You were really going to kill Richie and Lo Si – Lo Si threw off your shot?"

"Damned straight, he did! I'm still pissed at him. I had Richie dead in my sights. After he spoiled my aim, I swear I could have shot Lo Si right then and there, but that would have created such a mess in paperwork – paperwork like you wouldn't believe it. Well, yes, after looking at the mess on your desk, you'd believe it. Damn, kid, don't you ever file_ anything_?"

Peter knew that Kermit was trying to take his mind off Richie and he let him. He just didn't have the energy to fight with him right then. Instead, he reached out to Kermit again. "You really would have killed Richie because of what he did to me?"

"Faster than you can blink," Kermit said quietly, but with so much sincerity, Peter found himself fascinated.

"But why?"

Kermit's face crinkled into a frown. "Why? I told you I don't have a lot of people in my life that I can call friends. The ones I do allow in – well, I tend to look out for them just like they'd look out for me."

"And there wasn't any other way to stop Richie, except to kill him?"

"Didn't say that."

Peter stared at the wall facing his bed for a long while, watching the sun's strengthening light grow. He gave Kermit smiled a wan smile, then lay back against his pillow. "The only thing I can say is thank you and get me some food. Right now, I could eat a horse and then sleep for a week."

"Give me a moment and you'll have an order of steaming hot equine filet mignon at your table. Hmm, is it white or red wine served with horse meat?"

He chuckled at his own joke, appearing grateful Peter seemed to be on the road to recovery finally.

"As for the sleep, you're on your own."

Kermit yawned as he walked towards the door. "But now that you mention it, sleep sounds pretty damned inviting me, too. Be right back."

Kermit stepped out the door. Peter closed his eyes and Richie's face flashed through Peter's thoughts. He clenched his hands into fists, taking a deep breath, and then he let it out slowly. After another moment, he settled down a little more.

Glancing down, he saw the deep imprint of his own fingernails left on the palm of his left hand and sighed in quiet despair. Richie was still haunting his thoughts.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Peter sat upright while Caine applied pressure to different acupressure points along his spine. As his father worked he rhythmically squeezed a small blue physical therapy ball to help regain lost strength in his hand. Though another week had passed, Peter was still frustratingly weak.

"How does that feel now, Peter?" his father asked.

"Hell of a lot better, but it's still taking forever to heal."

"It will take some time for everything to heal. You must remember that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Doesn't change the fact it sucks."

Caine helped Peter back into his hospital gown before lowering him down on the bed.

"Thanks, Pop," Peter said with a big sigh.

His father stopped and eyed him more closely. "What is it, Peter?"

Peter rolled his head around his neck. "Richie said that he'd gone from April's fool to April's genius. I wonder about that. I wonder if there hadn't been a greater wisdom to the old Richie's gentle, caring ways. I don't think I've ever met anyone with the same level of contentment I saw in the old Richie on a regular basis. Well, with the possible exception of you and Lo Si. Maybe in Richie's quest to become smarter, he only made himself the biggest April's fool the world's ever seen."

"Peter, you helped to set him on the proper path. You found him a job at the precinct, but you could not control what happened afterward. We constantly come into contact with damaged spirits. The gift is to come away intact and, perhaps, if you are very lucky, to have helped the other heal a bit."

Peter gripped his right arm close to his chest. "Well, there you go, Pop! I guess I don't have that particular gift because it seems like every time I turn around, I'm running into some sicko who wants to kick my ass before breakfast!"

"Do not underestimate your own gifts, my son. You have helped many in your lifetime and shall continue to do so. It is the way of your spirit; you cannot do otherwise."

Peter's shoulders sagged a little.

"Give yourself time to heal and forgive, then you shall see," Caine added.

Rather than calming, Kwai Chang's words seemed to inflame. "I'm healing already, Pop. It doesn't seem to be helping a damned thing. What I really need is some help with these blasted nightmares. I can hardly close my eyes without waking up in a cold sweat. Help me with that and you'd _really_ be helping me."

Peter tried to keep the begging tone from his voice, but his desperation held it there. He looked at his father for assistance and saw him slowly shaking his head with a sad expression, then he lifted his eyes to meet Peter's.

"In order to rid yourself of these troubling nightmares, you must first let go of your inner torment."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you must let go of your anger and resentments regarding Richie Petry. You must forgive him in order to give yourself peace and serenity."

"What the hell?" Peter threw his legs over the edge of his bed, preparing to pace, but then thought better of it. Still, he didn't return to a reclined position.

"You – you actually want me to forgive that _bastard_? After all that he did? After all the people that he killed?"

Caine simply nodded, though the action looked like it pained him, as if he anticipated the response from his son.

"You're crazier than I am! Damn it! I just can't believe you sometimes!" Peter moved to stand, then stopped. "Why should I forgive him? Give me one good reason why?"

"For your sanity and to satisfy your body's need for sleep," the Shaolin priest replied dutifully.

Peter stood and wobbled for a moment. Caine took a step closer to him before stopping. Peter didn't know what to do. Suddenly, the soft rubber ball he still had gripped in his right hand caught his attention.

He squeezed the ball in his hand just as viciously as it felt his heart was being squeezed by Caine's statements, though his injured arm rebelled at such force.

"Do – do you have _any_ idea of the impact that many murders has had on countless families and friends? No, I can't forgive him! What's more, I won't forgive him! He killed those people without mercy. He killed them without remorse. He killed her without a second thought – I mean, them – I meant he killed them... without – "

Peter ran his left hand through his hair as his eyes darted around, then he waved it about in the empty air before transferring the ball from his right hand to his left, only to stare at it blankly as he tried to understand what was going on inside.

"No, my son, you were right. Richie did kill Camryn. You feel responsible for the deaths of the others because you helped raise Richie, but Camryn's death – her death has left you crushed with guilt. You spoke before of healing, but you were thinking of physical healing. What you need to focus now on is a spiritual healing. And Camryn's death is where you need begin."

In a fit of piqued fury, Peter threw the ball as hard as he could manage. "SHIT!"

The royal blue-colored ball hit the wall facing him and ricocheted with lightening speed against another wall, hitting two large flower bouquets, upsetting them both and they crashed to the floor, shattering loudly upon impact.

"I will never forgive him for what he did! Never!" Peter shouted while holding his ribs and grimacing from the intense pain that the act had caused him.

Caine went to help him and Peter waved him off. Stubbornly, Peter refused to sit, determined to stay on his feet while saying what he had to. Just as stubbornly, Caine refused to stop in his attempts to reach Peter's troubled heart.

"Do not focus on Richie any longer, my son. He has made his own path, as have you. You must look ahead."

"Pop, you just don't get it! You can't just put the genie back into the bottle! Once it's out, there's no going back! And right now, the thought of forgiving Richie makes me want to puke. This is me, Peter, your son! In all my living glory, mistakes and all. Take it or leave it, but I can't be any more than who I am! And if that means never forgiving Richie, then so be it."

"The genie?" Caine looked puzzled, then said, "Peter, you are my son. What you are is what I love."

"You can love... this?" Peter pointed to himself with unintentional dramatic flare. "How the hell can you love someone who can't love himself?"

Peter stormed into the bathroom with Caine calling after him, "Peter! Please come back. Please, my son, do not let this destroy you."

Just then, a nurse came running up to the doorway. She had probably heard the crashing flower vases. "Is everything okay in here?" she asked.

Caine looked at her sadly and merely shrugged his shoulders.

**oOoOoOoOo**

_It's about time they let me out of this place!_ Peter thought as he paced his room for what felt like the thousandth time in the last hour.

Caine entered Peter's hospital room and stopped, pausing to take a deep breath. "Peter, your disharmony saturates this room," Caine said sadly.

"No big mystery here. I've been trapped in this place for almost a frigging month!"

"Actually, it has not even been three weeks."

"Yeah, well, it's way past time that I should be home and that's _why_ there's disharmony!"

Peter never stopped moving the entire time he spoke, unable to remain still because of his constant rage. The last few days had been especially bad as his anger pushing away his father and everyone else. He barely acknowledged the fact he was getting stronger and his physical pain was ebbing.

He'd thought about running away before his father had returned, just slipping out in the middle of the night, but where would he go? What would he do? The nightmares would still be there. Richie might be in a psych hospital, but he haunted him every time his eyes closed for more than a few moments. Besides, Camryn and all those other people would still be dead. Nothing he could ever do would change that.

The overwhelming compulsion he had to fight with everyone and everything intensified with each passing minute. He couldn't control it, he couldn't fight it. There was just this rage, this all-consuming rage inside of him, blinding him to everything else.

"My son, do you not think it is time to finally address what is happening within your heart?" Caine asked compassionately, completely ignoring the bitter words that were just shouted at him.

Peter turned to him, feeling completely out of control and so very alone. "Pop, I-I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. There's so much anger inside of me. Honestly, I'm afraid to let it out – afraid that – that if I do, I'm gonna hurt someone... bad. Hell, it might even be you!"

"Peter."

Caine reached out toward Peter and only succeeded in driving him away to the window. Peter stood there for a long moment and began to speak again without turning in his father's direction.

"I just couldn't live with that, Father, not the possibility of hurting you or someone else. So, I stuff it down deep inside of me. Only it won't stay down there. It keeps coming back, driving me crazy. So I stuff and I stuff."

Peter pressed his forehead against the cool comfort of the window pane before him and whispered in a voice so frightened that he didn't even recognize it as being his own. "I'm losing it, Pop. I'm really losing it here."

"Peter, you must feel whatever it is your emotions are telling to you feel."

Peter's head snapped back as if struck and he faced his father. "Rage, hatred, betrayal. You want me to go through all that? I just–I just don't understand you!"

"Please, listen."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Peter screamed.

Just how his father withstood his tirade without reacting, Peter had no idea, but he was unable to stop himself. Peter started pacing again. His father was talking to him, but he couldn't hear him. No, he didn't want to hear him.

"My son, your guilt and grief are great. You feel a responsibility because you were a guiding light for young Richie."

That part got through and it was enough to send Peter into a frenzy.

"Yeah, now he's in the looney bin and I'm headed there myself, so what's your point?"

"My point... is that there is a simple way to avoid the... looney bin as you call it and that is by –"

"By forgiving Richie! Yeah, I know. I heard you the last hundred times, but apparently you haven't heard me, so I'm gonna say this just one more time! Hell will freeze over before I forgive him! Got it?"

Kwai Chang's sadness swept over Peter and he shrugged it away like he had been shrugging away Caine's proffered love. "Yes, I have got it. But I feel it is my duty as your father to say by doing so, you will stagnant in this painful state without healing and forgiveness."

"Ah, screw healing, Pop! And screw you, too! Just leave me the hell alone!" Peter shouted, leaving the room as fast as his trembling muscles would carry him.

**oOoOoOoOo**

It was weeks later. Peter had just finished an intense physical therapy workout session, trying to excise his troubled spirit through physical activity. He'd gotten a little carried away and nearly collapsed before Troy, his physical therapist, could catch him.

Once Troy was satisfied that Peter wasn't going to pass out on him, he put cold packs on Peter's traumatized areas as he laid on his stomach, then walked around the table and knelt in front of Peter for an eye-to-eye, heart-to-heart conversation.

"You know, Peter, we've worked together a few times over the years."

"Yes, we have, Troy," he replied with a tired tone.

"And every time you come in here, you push and push yourself to get back into top physical condition following whatever injury you have."

"So, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Peter. Normally, that's a great motivating force with my patients, but with you – you just take it too damned far."

"Troy, we've had this discussion before," Peter said with determination to keep emotion out of his voice.

"Yes, we have and I shouldn't be forced into making it again."

Sounding slightly miffed, Troy went on. "You know, with most of my patients, I have to play drill sergeant. But with you – hell, with you, I have to constantly apply the brakes!" Troy's voice had definite tones of frustration ringing strong.

Peter raised his head, gaining direct eye contact with the physical therapist. "Look, if I can't handle what I'm doing, I'll back off. I should be able to tell what's too much!"

Troy reacted. "That's right! You _should_ be able to tell, but obviously you can't or you won't! Look at you! It hasn't been that long since you were released from the hospital. For the love of Mike, your body still looks like two day old road kill! You're a mass of bruises and broken bones!

"But does that stop you? No! You have to push yourself until you're about to collapse! Well, my liability insurance doesn't cover idiots intent on killing themselves – nor does it cover people too headstrong to know they could be causing permanent damage to their bodies, so unless you back off, I'm going to have to tell you to find another numbskull stupid enough to watch you work yourself into chronic pain or death!"

"Well, why don't you just do that, Troy? Sorry to have caused you so much distress! You won't have to worry about it ever again!"

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul knew Peter must have had some type of blowout with Troy when he came storming into the lobby half-dressed with Troy at his heels trying to calm him down.

Paul paused in his conversation on his cell phone. "I'll call you back," he quickly told the other party on the phone.

Standing slowly while trying to assess the situation, Paul scratched at an irritating eyebrow and wandered up the Peter and Troy's loud conversation.

"No, Troy! I'm leaving and that's it!"

"At least put your shirt on, it's got to be forty degrees out there without adding in the wind chill factor and chance of rain," Troy said, mad, but more concerned about Peter's health.

"Hey, Troy, you're off the clock as far as I'm concerned. You don't have to watch over me anymore!"

"Okay, Peter, that's enough!" Paul's deep voice echoed in the lobby, causing Peter's head to swing around. He grimaced at the rapid movement and hugged his right arm to his bare chest before snapping back. "You too, now? Why don't we call Mom and my father in, too? Then everyone can tell me how I've fucked up this time!"

Unable to get into his shirt without slowing down, he threw it on the floor, along with his jacket and arm sling, and headed out the door in his stocking feet.

"He's in a bad way today, Captain Blaisdell. Worse than I've ever seen him," Troy said, handing him Peter's shoes after Paul picked up Peter's clothing from the floor.

"Yes, it appears I've got my hands full." Then he glanced down at his arms filled with Peter's belongings and would have chuckled at his poor choice of words if he hadn't been so worried about Peter.

He caught Troy's gaze. "Sorry about Peter's behavior, Troy. He's having a very difficult time right now."

Troy nodded. "When he calms down, tell him to call me to schedule another appointment. He can be a real pain in the ass, but he's worth the effort...at least, I think so."

"I will. Now, if I can find him before he catches pneumonia."

"Good luck, sir," Troy said, moving to open the door for Paul with his laden arms before returning to work.

"Yeah, thanks, I think I'm going to need it," Paul said, stepping through the door to the brisk, rainy day outside. He stopped, chewing on his lip, then spied Peter pacing beside the car and sighed. "Oh, Caine, your plan better work or else we're all screwed."

Walking up to Peter, he held out the clothes. "Better put these on before you turn into a human popsicle."

Paul got into the car and waited patiently for Peter without helping him into his clothes. Peter got in and slammed his door shut without saying a word. Paul knew Peter was fuming mad, but still didn't say anything to invite conversation.

Paul's demeanor softened. "Peter, you've been cooped up in that apartment for weeks, except to go the doctor and physical therapy. You really should come back to the house to stay for a while. You need to be around people right now."

Paul thought again of Peter's tirade. He didn't care for the changes occurring in Peter's behavior, but he loved him too much to say anything outright, lest another argument might erupt.

"Well, I'm not going back, so let's leave it at that," he stated gruffly, his voice holding no sign of love or compassion.

It was a long, quiet ride with neither man said a word until Peter said, "Where are we going?"

"To the precinct," Paul answered just as coolly, preparing himself for Peter's reaction.

"The precinct? Why are we going there? No, wait, don't answer that! I'm not going to the precinct! I want to go home. Just take me home now or I'll take a cab. It's been a shitty day from the start and I just want to go home."

"Sorry, we're going to the precinct."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I was your father for several years. Because I'm now your commanding officer and because I'm driving."

Peter struggled with Paul's words just as they pulled into the parking lot of the 101st. Peter's gaze shot daggers at Paul and Paul casually ignored it as he stopped the car.

"I'm not going in," Peter said petulantly.

"Yes, you are," Paul replied, unfastening his safety belt and turning to face Peter. "Now, I've got something to take care of, but Frank said he could take you home when you're ready."

Peter exploded again, shaking his head. "Criminy, Paul! First, you're going to make me go into a place I don't want to go to, then you're gonna take off! No, no, no, just take me home right now."

"Sorry, son, but there are people waiting to see you. This came up unexpectedly and I can't get out of it. I was on the phone with them when you stormed out into the lobby half-dressed. Now, I've promised the people here a visit from Peter Caine and that's what they are going to get."

Seeing Peter bristle in anger, Paul softened his tone. "Peter, they're worried about you."

"Why?" a quiet, bitter voice asked.

"What?" Paul asked, confused by Peter's tight-lipped question.

"Why do they want to see me?" Peter's tone increased in volume, but dropped in self-confidence.

"Because they care about you."

"Why?"

This time, Peter turned towards Paul, desperately seeking the answer to a question burning within his soul.

"Son?"

The moment passed and Peter pulled back inside himself faster than Paul could react.

"Never mind. You go wherever you have to go and I'll go into the station."

Peter awkwardly shifted in his seat to open the passenger door with his left hand.

"There's Frank," Paul said quietly, pointing at Strenlich, then glanced over at Peter. He could see by Peter's reaction that his son had been planning on slipping away the very moment Paul left the parking lot.

Peter reluctantly followed Frank into the precinct and was immediately surrounded by friends and colleagues. Actually, once his initial petulance passed, Peter was glad to see everyone.

Then again, he felt like he wasn't as much a part of the gang as he usually did. Peter remained aloft, fueled by his anger and distanced by his emotions, like some kind of malfunctioning toy. In that crowded workplace, he suddenly felt more alone than he'd ever felt in his apartment.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

While he was there, Peter's friends and coworkers seemed unwilling to leave him alone, unwilling to give him the space he needed, so he made the excuse of needing to speak with Jody alone. She was sitting at her desk, suspiciously absent from his well wishers.

Peter knew she hadn't returned his calls, or visited him at the hospital. Though she did send him a very nice get well card with a hand written note, it completely lacked the usual Powell sparkle and banter.

And there was something in her sadness that called out to him, making her emotional pain greater than his own. So, he sought her out, but he wasn't prepared to receive some of his own medicine he'd been doling out so freely to others as they had tried to help him.

"Jody," he said quietly after watching her for a moment.

She jumped as if badly startled, then tried to cover it, but Peter could still see the fear in her eyes. "Oh Peter, I didn't see you there."

"No, but you did see me come in. What? No hug for your old partner?" he said, forcing his usual smirk.

Jody's eyes darted about for a bit before she stood and gave him the briefest of hugs. "Sorry, my mind seems to be elsewhere lately."

She returned to her desk.

"How's it going? I haven't talked to you in ages."

"Oh, fine. Been busy, _really_ busy. Sorry about not calling you," Jody said, very involved in rearranging the items on her desk.

"Sure, no problem, I understand how that goes."

"It's good to see you out and about. I didn't think you'd be in to visit so soon."

Peter tensed a bit and took a deep breath to lose as much of the tension he'd been holding as possible before saying, "Yeah, well, that's Paul's doing. He can be pretty hard to say no to."

Jody did smile slightly with that comment. "Yes, he can be. Kind of like saying no to Kermit."

Peter chuckled, "Yeah, a lot like that. Say, where is Kermit?"

Jody shook her head without meeting Peter's gaze. "I don't know. He was in here first thing this morning, then left. Haven't seen him since then."

Peter noticed that as Jody was speaking to him, she rarely looked in his direction. Instead, she busied herself with the items on her desk. He wondered briefly what she had done with Richie's wooden creations.

_Probably burned them in effigy,_ he thought bitterly.

"You know, Blaisdell shanghaied me while we were on our way back from my physical therapy appointment and brought me here. I'm starved, haven't eaten a thing all day long. Do you think you could take a break and join me in some lunch?"

Jody's expression looked pained for a moment. Peter leaned closer, his expression open and waiting, "Don't I look like I'm about to faint dead away from hunger?"

The slightest of smiles graced Jody's lips. Peter knew she could hardly resist his charm when he really poured it on, so he milked it for all it was worth. "Seriously, Jody, I've about had my fill of this place for the day. Paul's gone. Frank's supposed to give me a ride home. No offense to the Chief, but how exciting is that? Besides, I'm tired and sore from physical therapy and I'm missing my partner. Don't you have a little time you can spare me?"

Peter knew he was playing the guilt card at the moment, but something about Jody's troubled expression touched his heart. He had to get her alone to find out what was wrong with her. He couldn't explain why her reticence affected him that way when none other had, but he was compelled to improve her spirits.

Peter had spoken more truth than he let on to Jody. He had left his pain medication at home. He hadn't eaten all day and had only been halfway feigning hunger and fatigue. Even though, he'd been home from the hospital for two weeks, he still moved like an old man, tending to hunch over a bit, guarding his right arm with its protective cast.

The weight of the whole getup was complicated by his broken ribs and his doctors made him wear a rib brace, leaving Peter feeling like he was dressed up as a gag gift for a Halloween party. But there was no humor in the pain accompanying those injuries.

Nor in his restless spirit either. He'd practically stopped talking with his father since the conversations always left him even more at odds with himself. Ever eager to please, he found none of the forgiveness present within himself for which Caine said he had to have in order to begin his own healing process.

Forgiveness – for a monster who ruthlessly killed twenty-six known victims. That tally could still rise as other unexplained deaths were being reexamined – victims killed for Richard's own advancement.

Peter's rising rage was suddenly stifled by Jody's unexpected acceptance to his invitation to lunch. Peter paused, wondering if he'd let something dark slip into his expression while he was waiting for her to respond.

Jody's acceptance was reluctant at best, but at least she agreed to go with him, at least until they reached the parking lot. Then she changed her mind. "Peter, I'm sorry. I just – I just can't do this right now," she said, each word was as if she were pulling teeth with a pair of pliers.

"Do what? Lunch? Come on, Jody, it's just a meal. Most people have three a day."

"No, not that. I can't... be here with you... looking like that. Not right now... I'm not ready for that yet."

"What? What's wrong with me? Did I forget to put my pants on again?" Peter quipped, a smart ass grin shining on his face.

"No! Peter, stop it! This isn't funny!"

When he saw Jody was fighting tears, he dropped his attempts at comedy and turned serious, touching her arm lightly.

"Jody, really, I'm on the road to recovery."

Jody jerked away from him. "Shit, Peter! You're lucky to be alive! A lacerated liver, punctured lung, four broken ribs, a compound fracture of the right arm, and a severe concussion. Hardly anything to make light of."

"Okay, okay, Jody, I was there. I remember. What's your point?" His compassion for her angst was rapidly waning.

"God, Peter, are you dense or what? Instead of coming to your rescue, I almost got you killed! Instead of rescuing you, you had to save both our butts! Instead of – "

Peter silenced her guilt-ridden confession with a light touch of his fingers against her lips. She stood there with tear-filled eyes and fidgeted with her arm sling, looking like she was ready to bolt any second.

"Shush... Jody, you've been carrying this ever around since it happened? That's why I haven't heard from you, except in writing?"

Peter's caring words dissolved whatever resolve she had left and she drew a shuddering breath and whispered, "Peter, I almost got you killed."

Taking her in his protective embrace, he hugged her close to him. "No, that was Richard. He's the only one to blame for this, but unfortunately, I doubt he'll ever reap the consequences of his actions, other than to get the necessary psychiatric help he needs."

Jody leaned into his embrace and sobbed into his jacket. "I was so afraid you wouldn't want to be my partner anymore. Or that you'd hate me forever. And then you were being so nice to me... it was killing me."

"Hey, we may be partners, but we're friends first. Now and always. Don't ever forget that again, Powell, or I might have to do some more butt-kicking."

Jody squeezed him tightly one more time before pulling away. "Thanks, partner. Thanks for everything... most of all, for just being you."

Peter grunted. "Uh, well, you're welcome, but there's a growing group of people who'd love to do some butt-kicking of their own with my posterior as the bull's eye – because of me being me."

"Yeah, I heard about that. You've been a real piss-ant since you got out of the hospital."

"And before I left too," Peter added with honesty, then cringed at how poorly he'd been treating his loved ones.

"So what's going on with that?" Jody asked as they walked arm in arm towards her car.

"Got a year or two? I'll be glad to explain."

"Let's get you some food before you start. I'm dying to hear about it."

"Oh yeah, riveting stuff."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Sitting in one of Peter's favorite restaurants, Jody leaned forward as she watched Peter pick at his food disdainfully.

"Peter, you are just skin and bones. Eat already!"

"I'll eat, but when I'm hungry," he said, finally placing his fork on the table. "After pouring out my heart and soul, my stomach's decided to take a vacation."

He smiled, but it was only a fraction of his usual smile.

"Well, I want to thank you for being so honest with me. Sometimes, you can be a lot like your father, you know. Holding everything in until you're about to explode."

"Yeah, I was getting close to the explosion point. In fact, I thought I passed it a few times in the last couple of days. I just don't know what's going on with me."

"I do," Jody said with her head propped up on her hands.

"Do I want to hear this answer?" Peter asked pensively.

"Probably not, but I'm going to say it anyway. It's that forgiveness thing you said your father's been harping on you about. I know you, Peter. The more something is forced on you when you're not ready, the more you fight it, even if it's just what you need. You are so pig-headed sometimes – "

Peter cleared his throat and gave her a dirty look. "Hey, hey, hey."

Jody laughed before continuing, "Sorry, I'm new to this psycho-babble stuff, but I got to watch a _lot_ of talk shows while out on medical leave."

"Oh, Jody, that stuff will rot your mind."

"Yeah, but it sure is entertaining." She giggled, then proceeded. "After seeing how I reacted to your presence and what I was feeling, I'm getting some hint of what you are going through and I have to tell you, buddy of mine, I think you're gonna have to listen to your father's recommendations. Forgive Richie or Richard or whatever you want to call him – let go of that shit and move on. Case closed. Court adjourned."

"Now, you see, you've got me confused. First, you're talking like Oprah, but you just ended like Judge Judy."

They both burst out laughing and Jody finally said, "I see you've been catching up on_ your _daytime TV, too."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Uh, in a word, yes... _nothing_ is on during the day, but talk shows. Where's the cartoons? Where's the sports? It's a travesty, I tell you."

Jody laughed again. "Hey, I'm just glad to be back at work again."

"You know, Jody, you're mighty tough on a recuperating fellow officer. Real tough." He mimicked Jody's earlier statement. _"'God, Peter, are you dense or what?' _Where did you ever learn to be so tough on people?"

"I learned it from a partner I had once." She smirked in a wicked little grin.

"Yeah, well, you better be more selective in what you learn from partners," Peter said, suddenly serious and self-depreciating.

"You're right, Peter," Jody replied, equally as serious, catching Peter's attention immediately. "Things like courage, bravery, and commitment can be such a pain to unlearn."

Peter's reaction was classic. Putting at the corner of his mouth with one finger, he tugged on it dramatically, pulling his head along like a hooked fish on a line, then laughed out loud.

"Okay, Jody, fair is fair. Here's one for you. What's going on with Richie's carvings? I saw they were gone from your desk."

Instead of taking the comment in stride, Jody flinched at its abruptness. "I just can't look at them right now."

"Come on, it's true confessions time. I spilled my heart and soul, now it's your turn."

"It's just that – that Richie was... "

"A friend?"

"Yes, that's it! I mean, before... "

"I know. I'm dealing with the same thing. Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow. Sometimes, I think it might just choke me. Then, in the back of my mind, this tiny little voice is starting to say,_ 'It wasn't his fault. Those accidents caused him to be like that.' _That's when I want to puke the most, because then it means there is no one to blame but myself for not seeing it earlier."

"And that's when we come full circle, partner, because it's not your fault, either. And it's not my fault. It's just life and sometimes, shit happens."

"Well, thank you so much for that eloquent description of the order of the universe, Jody. Master Po would be so impressed."

"Who?"

Peter grinned and shook his head. "Never mind, it wouldn't mean anything to you."

"So, you ready for me to take you home? Though you appear to be in better spirits, you look mighty tired to me."

"Yeah, well, sleep isn't exactly my biggest commodity right now."

"The nightmares."

"Yeah," Peter said, feeling himself pull back emotionally from the conversation, then he overruled that defense mechanism, opting instead to continue with Jody. Something in their discussions had loosened his rock-hard heart.

"Well, Peter, you're also way too pale from what I can see around the bruises. And in pain."

Peter narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, whispering. "Jody, are you taking lessons from your mother?"

"What?" Her expression reflected her confusion.

"You know, your mother... the one who hovers?"

"Oh that. Was I really hovering?" Jody shivered dramatically.

"Yes, I'm afraid you were."

"Ah, man, maybe I better go home, too."

"Don't worry, Jody. I think we've caught it in time." He smiled broadly before adding. "I'll let you get back to work. I'm going to play with my food a bit longer, then catch a taxi home."

"You sure about that? It's really no trouble at all. Besides, the more I look at you, the more worried I –"

"Hovering," Peter whispered like he was reminding her of the plague or some other dreaded disease.

"Okay, fine. If you want to be that way, so be it. It is upon your head and not mine."

"Oh, that _really _sounded like your mom."

"Hey, them's fighting words!" Jody exclaimed, slapping him lightly on the wrist. "That did it, I'm out of here!" she said with mock anger, then she leaned over and kissed him on top of his head. "Thanks for straightening me out."

When Jody pulled away from him, he looked up at her with his huge hazel eyes and said softly, "No, I need to thank you for straightening me out."

Jody simply smiled, took his hand and said, "A friend is someone who knows the song of your heart and recites it back to you when you've forgotten the words."

Peter stared at her for a moment with that simple revelation, then he reached forward, and kissed gently Jody's hand as he held it.

"And they say chivalry is dead," Jody muttered breathlessly before ruffling his hair and walking out before Peter could get back at her for messing with his hair.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter wandered up to the dark gray headstone, his face contorted into an equally dark expression. It had taken him a very long time to find the exact location, despite the small piece of paper he'd gotten at the cemetery office, showing the route.

Thinking his subconscious must have been working to sabotage his efforts, he shoved the now crumpled paper into his jacket pocket and sighed. He was at his destination. Arriving there, even with all his meandering, was the easy part. Doing what he had to do next, that was the hard part. Maybe too hard. He closed his eyes, trying to center himself as best as he could, then started his speech.

"Sorry I never made it to your funeral, Camryn. They-they were the day after I went to arrest Richie and–and... well, I got sidetracked."

Peter sniffed at the air, fighting against the tears threatening to fall.

"Anyway, I had to come say goodbye to you. Should have done it a lot sooner, but I've had my head up my ass ever since you were... killed." His voice broke and he covered his eyes with one hand for a moment, swallowing back more tears that wanted to fall.

He kept thinking of a love once carried in two hearts, now residing in only one – a love with the potential to have been more, except for temperaments, and fears, and life. A burning fire that fate had trimmed down to a mere whisper of smoke. All potential for more now forever gone and that conclusion to their love affair made the memory seem even more tragic.

Their love had etched itself upon his soul, making it as much a part of him as his own spirit. That thought gave him some slight comfort as a solitary tear fell from sheer loneliness. Fighting back against his sadness, he channeled it into anger.

"Maybe, you in your constant loving way have forgiven me, Camryn, but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive myself. Or Richie. _Damn_! Pop, how the hell can you expect me to forgive him for killing without mercy? How?"

An older model truck screeched to a stop a short distance from him, giving Peter a chance to recover a bit. An old man, probably in his late seventies, spoke some loud words to another man before exiting the rust-spotted vehicle. The younger man resembled the older one so much that Peter assumed he had to be a relative.

The old man hobbled his way past Peter with a small bunch of flowers tightly clasped in one hand and didn't stop until he got to a headstone a hundred feet away. He knelt beside the grave awkwardly, but with determination, then bowed his head in prayer, tenderly brushing a hand against the grass as he prayed, as if he were brushing against the soul buried beneath it.

The younger man in the truck cranked up the music playing on the radio, obviously unhappy to be there. Peter didn't give it much thought until the haunting guitar notes of a familiar song caught his attention.

Suddenly, Peter's receding tears blurred his vision and he wrapped his good arm around his casted arm, hugging himself as much as his healing ribs would allow. The song being played, "Heart of the Matter", had always been one of Camryn's favorites.

The lyrics sang in Don Henley's unique style penetrated Peter's heart, cracking open the floodgates of tears and he hugged his broken arm even closer to him, as if he was in jeopardy of totally unraveling without that tight hold.

The song continued to play and Peter knew he was rapidly losing a battle against his cascading grief. There was no way he could run fast enough to escape the sounds of his past – nor was he sure that he really wanted to.

_"I got the call today, I didn't wanna hear  
>But I know that it would come<br>An old, true friend of ours was talkin' on the phone  
>She said you found someone<br>And I thought of all the bad luck  
>And the struggles we went through<br>And how I lost me and you lost you  
>What are those voices outside love's open door<br>That make us throw off our contentment  
>And beg for something more?" <em>

For some reason, the lyrics triggered images of volatile arguments with Camryn, which filled his mind as the music played on. They had some real humdingers towards the end. And something about the passion involved in their spats brought a fleeting smile to his lips. Camryn was like that. Passionate about everything.

Then, Don Henley was singing again, bringing Peter's attention back to the present, back to where he was, back to that place of death. His shoulders sagged with the weight of his guilt, but there was something in what was being sung that pulled him back to the memories again.

_"I'm learning to live without you now  
>But I miss you sometimes<br>The more I know, the less I understand  
>All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again<br>I've been tryin' to get down  
>To the heart of the matter<br>But my will gets weak  
>And my thoughts seem to scatter<br>But I think it's about forgiveness  
>Forgiveness<br>Even if, even if you don't love me anymore" _

Now, with Camryn so strongly in his thoughts, hearing her favorite vocalist sing brought with it even more memories of her. Camryn Campbell, a wonderful woman he had once loved, but sadly not enough to change his life for.

Still, the mental snapshots flashed across his mind's eye. Beloved images of love, happiness, and laughter. A stolen moment following an early morning session of lovemaking after which Camryn had fallen asleep. As she slept soundly, Peter watched her in the shadowy predawn light. He memorized her features and her childlike serenity as she slept while the sun slowly warmed the room with light and heat until he couldn't stand it any longer and he began a series of whispery kisses which eventually awakened and aroused her again.

The next image brought a sure smile to his lips. It involved a food fight in his cramped kitchen as she was making breakfast for the two of them one morning. Everyone and everything needed cleaning after that. Something done with giggles and kisses. And eventually lead to a trip to the shower and a morning spent playfully lingering in bed.

He was still smiling when he heard the song begin its next verse and while he tried to ignore it, he couldn't. Almost as if it brought Camryn's presence there beside him with a vibrant intensity, but it wasn't possible. She was dead. Richard had killed her. Peter knew that in his head, but his heart had other ideas.

Even though the process just seemed too painful to be remembering her in that way while standing over her recently interred grave, he was unable to stop what was happening within himself.

_"These times are so uncertain  
>There's a yearning undefined<br>And people are filled with rage  
>We all need a little tenderness<br>But how can love survive in such a graceless age?  
>The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness<br>They're the very things we kill, I guess  
>Ah, pride and competition<br>Cannot fill these empty arms  
>And the work I put between us<br>You know it doesn't keep me warm" _

The memories were passing by too quickly now, though each was golden and special in its worth. And there were more than just pictures in his mind, his body was remembering her, too, with its own style of recall. As he reminisced how they would sit and hold each other for hours, his arms ached in its emptiness.

As he recalled how she loved to cuddle in bed, warming much more than just his heart, he felt a sudden chill reaching into his soul that could never be warmed by her again. As he reflected on their long evening strolls where they would walk and talk long past sunset, then ravenously go in search of a quick dinner, his stomach ached with an unquenchable hunger.

He dropped to his knees finally, unable to remain standing under the weight of such tremendous grief, weeping without restraint. And the damned song kept on playing, kept on working against his attempts at control, and kept on slaying him with each word.

_"I'm learning to live without you now  
>But I miss you, baby<br>The more I know, the less I understand  
>All the things I thought I'd figured out<br>I have to learn again  
>I've been trying to get down<br>To the heart of the matter  
>But everything changes<br>And my friends seem to scatter  
>But I think it's about forgiveness<br>Forgiveness  
>Even if, even if you don't love me anymore<br>There are people in your life who've come and gone  
>They let you down and hurt your pride<br>You better put it all behind you, baby, cuz life goes on  
>You keep carryin' that anger, it'll eat you up inside" <em>

Now, Camryn's face was replaced by Richard's. Full of madness. Full of hate. And reflexively, Peter put up a fist wishing to bash in the face of the man who had killed a young and vibrant woman. All because she had once had the bad taste to fall in love with a certain detective.

Thinking the rage filling up inside of him was more than he could handle, he tried to shift his thoughts back to Camryn. Only now, when he thought of her in the same context as Richard, he was assaulted by the memory of finding Camryn's battered body beside his car and the image nearly crushed him with its weight.

He fell forward while on his knees, his hand pressed to the ground in front of him to keep him from falling face first into the thick carpet of grass below. And the music kept playing, making the four minute song seem four decades long.

_I've been trying to get down  
>To the heart of the matter<br>But my will gets weak _  
><em>And my thoughts seems to scatter<br>But I think it's about forgiveness  
>Forgiveness<br>Even if, even if you don't love me _

Struggling to catch his breath with his troublesome ribs and healing surgical incisions, he was caught by a picture of Camryn in one of her happiest moments, right after her sister had delivered her first baby and Camryn was there as her coach.

When she ran out in the waiting room to tell Peter about the delivery and her new niece, she was so happy she was almost walking on air. Bubbly, effervescent, vivacious, so alive. Peter remembered thinking at that moment, he'd never seen anything so beautiful. And her image went round and round in his mind like a revolving kaleidoscope.

_"I've been trying to get down  
>To the heart of the matter<br>Because the flesh gets weak  
>And the ashes will scatter<br>But I think it's about forgiveness  
>Forgiveness<br>Even if, even if you don't love me" _

As Henley's voice died away to the instrumental ending, his final memory playback of Camryn was of their last goodbye. For all of the arguments that had been present there at the end, their goodbye was quiet and bittersweet.

When Peter was rendered nearly speechless by her touching farewell, she had simply reached up, kissed him on the forehead and placed a soft hand to his cheek.

"There's nothing left to say, handsome. This is something we have to do, for both our sakes. Just remember the good times and forget the rest, okay?"

"Okay." The one word seemed to be all he could manage, knowing he was losing out on something very special. Brushing her fingers against his jaw one more time, she turned and walked away.

Peter thought she was going to leave without even turning back, but at the last moment, she spun around halfway, somehow knowing he was still watching her departure. She gave him a little finger wave, smiling bravely, but there were tears on her cheeks. Then she was gone. Like now. Gone.

The old man shuffled by on his way back to his vehicle. He hesitated, as if to ask Peter if he needed any help, then he looked back at the graveside he'd just left and he shook his head in a silent understanding of the staggering depths of loneliness and heartache.

The man climbed into the truck and before the engine started up, the radio stopped abruptly. It didn't matter, Camryn's song was over anyway. Right before the engine turned over, Peter heard the old man say, "No grandson of mine will be disrespectful of the dead!"

Then they drove off. Now, Peter was truly alone with his grief amid acres of dead people and stone monuments. A solitary beating heart, heavy with grief, in a place where grief never seemed to actually depart, for it was the very nature and substance for the place. Its sole purpose to provide a constant remembrance of those who had already passed on for the benefit of those they'd left behind.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	16. Chapter 16

Sorry for the delay. I worked 11 days in a row with 10-12 hour days, so my brain was a little fried. Hope you enjoy the finale.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Peter wound up at the lake, at his secret place. He was cold and wet, tired and hungry. Most of all, he was in pain, but he hadn't allowed himself to go home, nor could he seek out the company of others, so Peter had gone to the very place where he often found solitary solace.

Peter sat under his favorite tree, unmoving as a stone Buddha. He thought back to an earlier conversation he had with his father. One of his last before shutting his father out of his life completely for the past few days. At the time, Peter had allowed his father to give him a heartfelt embrace in a momentary flash of vulnerability.

_"Because Richie killed Camryn to hurt you, you felt the guilt would consume you. In fact, long after your injuries began to heal, your heart and spirit did not. It held onto that grief, wrapping it around you like a heavy cloak. You are still wearing that cloak now, my son." _

_Peter wanted to pull away from his father, but curiosity and need compelled him to stay within the loving comfort of his father's arms. _

_"Though it looks like you are withering on the vine, you are pulling so deep within yourself, digging your roots down, trying to hold on so hard to your teachings that it exhausts you. But do it you must, in preparation of that next step – that tremendous task of actually forgiving, but you can do it. You are stronger than you think. You can do this thing." _

_Peter raised his head, then searched his father's kind and loving eyes. "How – how do you know so much when I know nothing... nothing at all." _

_His father smiled and kissed Peter on his forehead. "You know it, too, deep within yourself. One day soon, you will be able to acknowledge what you are feeling and then you will be ready for spiritual healing. It will happen when it is time." _

_He embraced Peter again, and in that embrace, Peter felt his love, hope, and inspiration for what was ahead. _

Sighing, Peter remembered how he'd pushed all that away and stewed in misery. Without moving, he thought felt the presence of his father watching him for a long while, but he was too tired to move, but when he felt the subtle infusion of strengthening chi, something inside erupted with the well-meant violation of his privacy.

Peter's head snapped up abruptly. Instead of being grateful, Peter bristled with unrestrained anger. Scrambling to his knees, then to his feet, he located his father and launched into an angry tirade with his father as the target.

"What the hell gives you the right to presume to follow me when I don't want to be around anyone? How many times in this life do I have to tell you to stop dogging me? And sending me your chi nearly killed you the last time you tried it, didn't it? Didn't you learn anything from that?

"What if I don't _want_ to feel better? You know, you've said it yourself, sometimes you've just got to sit with your pain before it can get better!"

Peter noticed his father's slow, examining gaze and knew he was taking in Peter's damp clothing from sitting on the ground in the light mist in the air, his features pinched and pale, and the ugly bruises still adorning his face – bruises which stubbornly remained when they should have faded away long ago, as if they were some badge of dishonor, refusing to leave until Peter paid the proper penance for his wrongs.

Peter's voice was hoarse from exhaustion and emotion, his hands trembling from the cold and his pain. His anger was the only thing keeping him moving, but it was also the only thing keeping him from being silent.

He knew his father shouldn't be the one to bear his wrath, that all belonged to Richie. But Richie wasn't available to bear witness and his father was.

Peter paced as much as his waning energy and pain would allow, running a hand through his damp hair, trying to find a way to say what he was feeling.

"I don't – I don't know if I can find my path any longer. Richie quoted something I know I've heard before – it was from a famous play, something about the things in life taking us away from our true selves."

His father nodded. "Eugene O'Neill, 'Long Day's Journey Into Night.'_ None of us can help the things life has done to us. They're done before you realize it and once they're done, they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you'd like to be and you've lost your true self forever._"

Peter gave him a surprised look before turning grim again, "Yeah, that's it. Maybe I'm too far from my true self to ever find my path again."

"No. Perhaps, Richie is, but not you, my son. Never you."

Dejected and in terrible emotional pain, Peter whispered. "I wish I had your faith."

"You have it within yourself to believe. You need only clear away your emotions to see it. Look forward and inward. All your answers lie there, but, Peter, you do not need to do this alone. Inner reflection can be a very good and positive process, but we humans were never meant to go the path alone."

Taking Peter in his arms, he said. "Especially not you, my son."

This time, when Caine's message reached into his heart, he latched onto it as a lifeline. Maybe there was truth in his father's words after all; truth that he could believe in enough to apply it to his own situation; tantalizing truth that would set him free from his constant torment.

Jody had mentioned the same truths earlier that day. So had Paul. Even Camryn had through the song playing at the cemetery. And that truth involved forgiveness as his father had said from the very beginning.

It was such a simple concept, yet so very difficult to follow. Taking a deep breath, Peter realized he was finally ready to try it. He had battled against forgiveness for so long that once he gave into accepting it, he had a sudden rush of vitality sweep through his tired spirit, invigorating him for what was ahead.

His father held him close for a long time before pulling away. When Peter opened his eyes, he saw Lo Si standing beside them expectantly, as if he'd always been standing there and Peter was only just now able to see him.

"Lo Si? What are you doing here?" he asked, moving to do a respectful bow.

"So, young Caine, have you found the song of your heart again?" Lo Si asked quietly with a wizardly smile upon his lips.

"Wh-what... why... how the hell do you know about that?" Peter stammered in confusion.

"I saw Jody briefly this afternoon when she brought us something to eat. She mentioned that she had spoken with you today and that this was one of her favorite quotes."

Peter couldn't help but to smile as he replied, "Yes, Lo Si, the song is becoming more familiar to me again."

"That is good, because we have been preparing a surprise for you," the Ancient answered with a broad smile.

Peter felt his face scrunch into a questioning expression. "A surprise? What? What have you two done now?"

Then Peter noticed the unusual degree of dirt and grime on both men.

"You shall see, my friend," the Ancient said as he wrapped his arm inside Peter's and guided him towards a large stand of evergreens.

Peter felt his father's presence behind them. Somehow, he knew Caine was smiling broadly. Once they passed the trees, they entered a large clearing at the water's edge. Peter saw Paul, Kermit, and Frank waiting for them. All the men were dirty from some type of manual labor.

That was when Peter first noticed the area had been transformed into a large stone labyrinth with the stone tiles forming a walking path – a huge circular path covering an area fifty feet across. Peter recognized its format as being similar to one they had constructed at the temple so many years ago.

At first glance, it appeared to be a giant circle that went around and around with a path leading to its center, but it was much more convoluted than that. Turning back and forth on itself, it allowed the person walking its path a much longer route. A route meant to be spent in inner reflection and self-discovery until they reached the center and then continued to the exit and hopefully, a peaceful resolution of their problems. It was designed as a meditative tool for spiritual growth and learning.

To Peter, it meant so much more. It must have taken his friends and family most of the day to construct it and he decided they had to have started it the moment he left the precinct with Jody and worked on it while he was at the cemetery and on his way there, and then completed it as he sat and watched the gentle lapping waves of the lake water brush against the shoreline before him.

Peter's emotional state was already volatile; the day's arguments and resolutions had taken its toll on him and he brought a hand to his mouth and simply stared at the beautifully simple labyrinth with tear-filled eyes.

Paul walked up to join them while Kermit and Frank moved to stand at the water's edge, allowing Paul some privacy with Peter. Wordlessly, Paul gave Peter a hug, then released him. Peter took a few more steps toward the labyrinth before turning back to the men so instrumental in making him the man he was and said, "Wh-why?"

"My son, you have always known one of the secrets of the universe is not having all that you want... instead, it is being content with all that you have. Camryn is no longer among the things you have in your life. You must let go of her and move on, but never let go of the love and happiness you shared with her."

Peter was confused. "This – this is for Camryn?"

"No, it is for you. And for others who will need to walk its path to clear their hearts and minds before pressing forward towards the future. Life was never meant to be easy, but there are tools that we can use to make it easier."

Lo Si stepped forward and smiled his ageless smile, pausing in respect for Peter's bewildered state before continuing, "You are very quiet, young Peter."

Peter never took his eyes from the enticing serenity of the labyrinth as he swallowed, then spoke in a low controlled tone, "You ever see a massive cloud bank hug a mountain range? How it seems to puff up and make the mountain range seem so much bigger?"

He reached out a hand for emphasis as he spoke with eyes focused on the distant sight he was describing.

"The cloud bank just hangs there, molding, conforming to the mountain general contours, but so much expanded from what it was. I've been thinking about that image today, knowing if I was atop one of those ridges inside that mighty fog bank, I'd never know the beauty and awe of those who could see such a sight from afar and probably would have only complained about not being able to see the sun.

"What I'm getting at is this – distance provides understanding that proximity never provides. I think walking the labyrinth may give me that necessary distance I've been lacking since I got out of the hospital. I was so close the situation, especially with everyone trying to help me that I became lost in that hazy existence. Thank you for allowing me the distance I needed. Thank you all for hanging in there with me through this. I haven't exactly been the easiest person to be around lately."

He went to embrace each of the men around him, ending up with Lo Si. He whispered into Lo Si's ear, "I'd steer clear of Kermit. He's still really pissed at you."

"Ah, my young friend, he too is healing, but he only shows his heart to a very few. You are one of them. Perhaps, the two of you can walk the path of healing together?"

Peter planted a quick kiss to the top of Lo Si's head, then nodded before turning towards Kermit and Frank who had just walked up to them.

Kermit took one look at Peter's outstretched arm and stopped as he frowned. "Don't get the wrong idea here, buddy boy. I don't do hugs," he said with a sudden smirk as he gave Peter a heartfelt handshake.

Leaning closer, he whispered quietly, "There's more than one kind of healing, Peter, and more than one person who needs to do it. This was for you, but it was also for me, too."

Slightly stunned by Kermit's admission, Peter quickly gave Frank a strong handshake before pulling him into a quick hug, embarrassing the ex-Marine so obviously touched by the emotion of the moment.

Feeling very loved, Peter turned to face everyone and asked with a broad smile, "So, are we all going to walk it together?"

A quick flurry of movement around him told him that the subject had already been discussed and he was the only one not knowing the answer to his question.

"No, Peter, we've got to clean up and get back to work. We took a few hours' vacation time, but now that we are done, we need to go," Frank said, trying to sound convincing.

"We will leave you in your father's able hands, Peter," Lo Si said as he placed a comforting hand upon Peter's arm.

"Well – well, thank you all for this," Peter stammered, not expecting everyone to be leaving so quickly.

Soon, it was just Peter and Caine. Peter looked to his father expectantly. "Well, I guess it's just you and me," he stated with a bigger smile than he'd worn in weeks.

"Hmm, they must have had a cold snap down below," Peter said with a smirk.

"I beg your pardon?" his father asked with confusion, then he answered his own question. "Ah, yes, hell would freeze over before. Does this mean you are ready to forgive Richie?"

"Yes, but more importantly, I'm ready to try and forgive myself."

His father smiled so proudly it radiated right into Peter's heart and he had to turn away for a moment from its brilliance as he looked back to the labyrinth, then to his father again.

"Care to walk with me?"

"No, my son, I cannot walk this path of healing for you. But I will be here waiting for your return."

Peter searched his father's face for more information and found none. Then the love present from the older man enveloped him and Peter had to struggle for control of his emotions. The only reply he could manage was to stretch out his arm for another much needed embrace.

Peter wasn't sure how long it lasted, because all time seemed to stop in that loving comfort, then his father spoke to him softly without pulling away.

"You will heal from this experience and be stronger for it. My son, you have an eventful and blessed life ahead of you and I consider myself so fortunate to have found you again, so that I may also be a part of it."

"I'm glad we're together again too, Pop – more than words can say."

His father pulled back a bit and used his thumbs to brush away Peter's tears in the same manner he'd done ever since Peter was a baby. "Words are not necessary with a love as mighty as yours."

Peter brought his hand to the back of his father's neck and simply stared at him for a long moment. Then he kissed him on the forehead. He released him and took a few steps toward the labyrinth.

"Guess I better get this started. The sun will be going down soon."

"As you wish," his father said stoically as he sat where he'd been standing and crossed his legs, preparing to enter a deep meditative trance.

"Well, so much for a preamble," Peter muttered with a smile as he took a few more steps toward the stone labyrinth, then paused as he looked back at his father.

"What are you going to be doing while I'm walking my path?"

His father never opened his eyes, only took a deep breath and smiled enigmatically. "You are not the only one who needs healing, my son. It is only in our pain that we learn to grow, to stretch beyond ourselves. I too am in need of healing and shall work on it from this place while you do yours in the labyrinth."

When Peter didn't answer right away, his father sighed, then opened his eyes expectantly. Peter was there waiting on him, having silently walked up to his location and knelt before him.

Using his most sincere tone, Peter said, "I'm sorry if any of that necessary healing is due to me or something I've said. I love you so much, Pop – Father, and I need to tell you that more."

His father's expression crinkled into a warm smile. "I know, Peter. You do have that need and I will gladly accept that love whenever you wish to offer it. But for the moment, the day's light is waning and you have lessons to resolve."

He gently tapped Peter on the chin in an area with the least amount of bruising to drive in the lesson.

"Yes, Father, I do indeed."

With that, he stood and walked to the labyrinth without pause, walked into the embrace of healing and growth with the same intensity he had faced most of his life, but it seemed so much easier this time. Perhaps, it was because of the man sitting on the ground behind him.

And perhaps it was because he had just taken his first true steps toward healing and forgiveness.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Treatment Report: Richard J. Petry Chart #040177**  
>by Doctor Janet Timerline<p>

_Richard's seizures and headaches seem to be greatly reduced with the most recent regimen of medication, along with controlling the auditory hallucinations and the occurrences of self-responding speech have decreased dramatically. _

_The incidence and severity of his seizures have also dropped considerably, along with a significantly improved EEG (see attached EEG report and medication list) _

_As far as behavior goes, Richard exhibits occasional episodes of belligerent behavior, though never severe enough to warrant a medication change or punishments. _

_In fact, it's entirely possible that these rare incidents of negative actions have been caused by the anti-seizure medications, but they have always been short-term and relatively benign. _

_Richard tends to isolate, but when asked to join in group activities, he willingly does so. During this time of adjustment to the facility, we have opted not to push for more than that. _

_I anticipate being able to help Richard work through the devastating tragedies in his life and his current incarceration. _

_On a personal note: Richard is extremely talented for a man with his disabilities and limitations. His skill at wood carving is phenomenal. We started him off with soap carvings and dull tools until we were satisfied we could trust him. We then allowed him to work with wood and sharper tools under close supervision where his talent really excelled. _

_I am currently looking at an intricate and lifelike rendition of an owl perched on a tree branch given to me as a gift that would bring in good money wherever sold. _

_Of course, this is purely speculative at this point, but it is not outside the realm of possibility to one day see Richard re-integrate back into the outside world. _

**oOoOoOoOo**

Sitting alone in his locked cell, the awesome silence enveloping Richard was a welcomed relief to the constant cacophony of voices, which had plagued him in the weeks before his incarceration. He moved his arm around, working out the residual stiffness still there from the stabbing, gunshot wound and burns.

Richie smiled as he reached out with his index finger towards the wall socket and a thin filament of blue-white electricity leapt out from the wall socket to his waiting finger.

"I remember, Detective Peter," he whispered as he watched with curiosity at the varying degrees of control he had over the electricity.

His childlike expression became a fluid, volatile thing of barely suppressed emotion as he swallowed back his rage.

"I remember being smart. And I also remember that because of you, I am stupid again. I will _never ever_ forget that! These idiots here _really_ think I am my old stupid self again, but I remember a lot more than they think I do. I didn't lose everything in that burst of electricity, did I?"

"In fact, it was another miracle. I should have died then. Instead, I was born again on my birthday – I won't be April's fool forever."

Richie nodded his head emphatically, his whisper taking on a conspiratory tone. "Yes, I remember being smart. I do."

There was more head nodding as he released the electricity to return from where it came. "So, I will stay here... until I don't want to stay anymore. Then I will be smart again. And then, Detective Peter, you will die."

**oOoOoOoOo**

**The End**

**Chapter 16**


End file.
